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THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN 
THE BRITISH TRENCHES 

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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

1. A Social Failure 7 

II. Different Kinds of Courage 26 

III. Farewell 41 

IV. Making Acquaintances 58 

V. “Lady Dorian” 71 

VI. A Trial of Fire 85 

VII. The Landing 97 

VIII. A Meeting 109 

IX. “But Yet a Woman” 124 

X. Behind the Firing Lines 138 

XL Out of a Clear Sky 150 

XII. First Aid 161 

XIII. The Summons 169 

XIV. Colonel Dalton 179 

XV. Newspaper Letters 190 

XVI. The Ambulance Corps 202 

XVIL Dick 214 

XVIII. A Reappearance 226 

XIX. The Test 235 

XX. A Girl’s Deed 249 

XXL An LFnexpected Situation 258 

XXII. Recognition 271 


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V 


THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN 
THE BRITISH TRENCHES 


CHAPTER I 


A Social Failure 



iHE dance was over and Mildred 


Thornton climbed disconsolately up 


the long stairs. From her thin 
shoulders floated a delicate white scarf and 
her dress was of white lace and tulle. 
Yet Mildred had no look of a conquering 
Princess, nor yet of^Cinderella, who must 
have carried her head proudly even after 
the ball, remembering the devotion of her 
Prince. 

But for Mildred there was no Prince to 
remember, nor devotion from anyone. She 
was in that mood of hopeless depression 
which comes from having attended a dance 
at which one has been a hopeless failure. 


8 


In the Trenches 


Her head drooped and though her cheeks 
were hot, her hands were cold. 

Downstairs in the library she could hear 
her brother having his good-night talk 
with their mother. Of course he did not 
intend that she should overhear what was 
being said, and yet distinctly his words 
floated up to her. 

‘‘Well, dearest,"^ I did what I could, I 
swear it. Do hand me another one of 
those sandwiches; playing the devoted 
brother takes it out of me. But poor old 
Mill is no go! The fellows were nice 
enough, of course; they danced with her 
whenever I asked them, but the worst of 
it was they would not repeat the offense. 
You know Mill dances something like an 
animated telegraph pole, and though she 
is a brick and all that, she hasn’t an ounce 
of frivolous conversation. Do you know, 
I actually heard her talking about the 
war, and no one in our set ever speaks of 
the war now; we are jolly tired of the 
subject.” 

Whatever her mother’s reply, It was 
given in so low a tone as to be inaudible. 
But again Dick’s voice was pitched louder. 


A Social Failure 


9 


‘‘Oh, all right, I’ll keep up the struggle 
a while longer, as I promised, but it’s no 
use. Have you ever thought of what will 
become of your adored son’s popularity if 
he has to continue in New York society with 
a ‘Mill’ stone hung about his neck?” 

On the stairs the girl bit her lips, fling- 
ing back her head to keep the tears away. 
For at once there had followed the sound of 
her brother’s pleased laugh over his own wit, 
then her mother’s murmured protest. 

So plainly could Mildred Thornton see 
the picture in the library that it was not 
necessary for her to be present except in 
the spirit. Indeed, it was in order that she 
might not intrude upon Dick’s confession 
that she had insisted upon going at once to 
her own room as soon as they arrived at 
home. Nevertheless, no one need tell her 
that her brother had not the faintest inten- 
tion of being unkind. He never liked hurt- 
ing people’s feelings; yet when one is hand- 
some and charming, sometimes it is difficult 
to understand how those who are neither 
must feel. 

In her own room a moment later. Mil- 


10 


In the Trenches 


dred, touching the electric button, flooded 
her apartment with a soft yellow light. 
Then deliberately placing herself before a 
long mirror the girl began a study of her 
own appearance. After all, was she so much 
less good looking than other girls Was 
that the reason why Dick had been com- 
pelled to report to their mother her extraor- 
dinary lack of social success.^ And if this 
had been the only occasion, once would not 
have mattered. But after three months of 
the same story, with everything done to 
help her, beautiful clothes, her own limou- 
sine, her father’s money and reputation, her 
mother’s and brother’s efforts — ^why, no 
wonder her family was discouraged. But 
if only her mother had not been so disap- 
pointed and so chagrined, Mildred felt she 
would not have cared a great deal. There 
were other things in life besides society. 

Yet now, without fear or favor, Mildred 
Thornton undertook to form an impartial 
judgment of herself. 

In the mirror she saw reflected a girl 
taller than most girls, but even in these 
days when slenderness is a mark of fashion. 


A Social Failure 


11 


certainly one who was too thin. However, 
there was comfort in the fact that her shoul- 
ders were broad and flat and that she carried 
her head well. 

‘‘For one must find consolation in some- 
thing,*’ Mildred murmured aloud. Then 
because she did not consider that the con- 
solations were as numerous as they might 
have been, she frowned. It was unfor- 
tunate, of course, that her hair, though 
long and heavy, was also straight and 
flaxen and without the yellow-brown lights 
that were so attractive. Then assuredly 
her chin was too square and her mouth 
too large. 

Closer she peered into the mirror. Her 
nose was not so bad; it could not be called 
piquant, nor yet pure Greek, but it was 
a straight, American nose. And at any 
rate her eyes were fairly attractive; if one 
wished to be flattering they might even be 
called handsome. They were almost steel 
color, large and clear, with blue and gray 
lights in them. Her eyebrows and lashes 
were much darker than her hair. If only 
their expression had not always been so 
serious ! 


12 


In the Trenches 


Turning her head first on one side and 
then on the other, attempting to dart 
ardent, challenging glances at herself, sud- 
denly Mildred made a little grimace. Then 
throwing back her head she laughed. In- 
stantly the attraction she had been hoping 
for appeared in her face although the girl 
herself was not aware of it. 

“Mildred Thornton, what an utter goose 
you are! It is tragic enough to be a stick 
and a wall flower. But when you attempt 
behaving like the girls who are belles, you 
simply look mad.’’ 

Moving aside from the mirror Mildred 
now let her party gown slip to the floor. 

She was standing in the center of a 
beautiful room whose walls were gray and 
gold. The rug under her feet was also gray 
with a deep border of yellow roses. Her 
bed was of mahogany and there was a ma- 
hogany writing desk and table and low 
chairs of the same material. Through an 
open door one could glimpse a private sit- 
ting room even more charming. Indeed, as 
there was no possible luxury missing so 
there could be no doubt that Mildred Thorn- 


A Social Failure 


13 


ton was a fortunately wealthy girl, which 
of course meant that she had nothing to 
trouble her. 

Nevertheless, at this moment Mildred 
was thinking, ^^Oh, if only I were thirty 
instead of nineteen, I wonder if I might 
be allowed to be happy in my own way.” 

Then without remembering to throw a 
dressing gown across her shoulders, tip- 
toeing across the floor without any appar- 
ent reason, the girl unlocked a secret 
drawer in her desk. Opening it she drew 
out a large, unusual looking envelope. 
She was staring at this while her eyes were 
slowly filling with tears, when there came 
a sudden knock at her door. 

At the same instant the envelope was 
thrust back into the drawer, and not until 
then did Mildred answer or move toward 
her door. 

A visit from her mother tonight was 
really one of the last things in the world 
she desired. It was wicked to have so 
little sympathy with one’s own mother 
and the fault was of course hers. But 
tonight she was really too tired and de- 


14 


In the Trenches 


pressed to explain why she had made no 
more effort to be agreeable. Her mother 
would insist that she had only herself to 
blame for her evening’s failure. It was 
hard, of course, that so beautiful a woman 
could not have had a handsome daughter 
as well as a handsome son. 

But instead of her mother, there in the 
hall stood a tall, thin man, whose light hair 
had turned gray. He had a strong, power- 
ful face, deeply lined, one that both men 
and women turned to look at the second 
time. 

‘H heard you come upstairs alone. Mill 
dear,” Judge Thornton said, smiling like 
a shamefaced schoolboy. Don’t tell your 
mother or Dick, will you, for we had better 
break it to them by degrees? But I sent 
a check today for two thousand dollars 
to the Red Cross Fund to be used in this 
war relief business, my dear. I had to 
do it, it was on my conscience. I know 
your mother and brother won’t like it; 
they have been scolding for a new motor 
car and I’ve said I couldn’t afford one. 
Really four persons ought to be able to 


A Social Failure 


15 


get on with two automobiles, when a good 
many thousands are going without bread. 
We’ll stand together, won’t we, even if my 
little girl has to give up one of her debu- 
tante parties?” 

Already Mildred’s arms were about her 
father’s neck so that he found it difficult 
to talk, for that and other reasons. 

“I am so glad, so glad,” she kept whis- 
pering. ^‘You know how tiresome Dick 
and mother feel I am because I don’t 
think we ought to keep on playing and 
dancing and frivoling, when this horrible 
war is going on and people are being 
wounded and killed every minute. If 
you only guessed how I wanted to use 
the little knowledge and strength I have 
to help.” 

But the Judge now shook his head de- 
cisively and moved away. 

‘‘Nonsense, child, you are too young; 
such an idea is not to be thought of. We 
ought never to have let you attend those 
hospital classes, or at least I should not 
have allowed it. Goodness knows, your 
mother fought the idea bitterly enough! 


16 


In the Trenches 


But remember, you promised her that you 
would give the same time to society that 
you have given to your nursing, and that 
is three years. You can’t go back on your 
word, and besides I won’t have you think- 
ing so much about these horrors; you’ll 
be making yourself ill. War isn’t a girl’s 
business.” Certainly Judge Thornton was 
trying to be severe, but just beyond the 
door he turned back. 

‘‘I sent the check in your name. Mill 
dear, so you can feel you are doing a little 
something to h^lp,” he added affectionately. 
‘‘Good night ” 

Afterwards, although tired (and it was 
quite two o’clock when she was finally in 
bed), Mildred Thornton found it almost 
impossible to sleep. At first she kept seeing 
a vision of herself as she appeared at the 
dance earlier In the evening. How stiff 
and solemn and out of place she had seemed, 
and how impossible it had been to make 
conversation with the young men her brother 
had brought forward and introduced to 
her! In the first place, they had not seemed 
like men at all, but like the fashionably 


A Social Failure 


17 


dressed pictures in the magazine advertise- 
ments or the faultless figures adorning the 
windows in men’s furnishing stores. 

Besides, they had only wished to talk 
of the latest steps in the new dances or 
the last musical comedy. And what a 
strange expression that young fellow’s face 
had worn, when she had asked him if he 
had ever thought of going over to help 
in the war! No wonder Dick had been so 
ashamed of her. 

Then, having fallen arleep, Mildred be- 
gan dreaming. Her father (Jiad been right, 
she must have been thinking more than 
she should about the war. Because in her 
dream she kept seeing regiment after regi- 
ment of soldiers marching across broad, 
green fields, with bands playing, flags fly- 
ing and their faces shining in the sun. 
Finally they disappeared in a cloud of black 
smoke, and when this took place she had 
awakened unexpectedly. 

Sitting up in bed with her long flaxen 
braids hanging over either shoulder, Mil- 
dred wondered what had aroused her at 
this strange hour.^ Then she remembered 

2 


18 


In the Trenches 


that it was the loud, clear ringing of their 
front door bell. Moreover, she had since 
become conscious of other noises in the 
house. Her brother had rushed out of 
his room and was calling to the man ser- 
vant who had^turned on the lights down 
in the front hall. 

say. Brown, be careful about opening 
that front door, will you.^ Wait half a 
moment until I get hold of my pistol and 
I’ll join you. I don’t like this business 
of our being aroused at a time like this. 
It must be just before daylight and New 
York is^ull of burglars and cutthroats.” 

Dick then retired into his room and the 
next sound Mildred heard was his voice ex- 
postulating with his mother. 

‘^Oh, go on back to bed, dearest, and 
for heaven’s sake keep father out of this. 
Certainly there is no danger; besides, if 
there were I am not such a mollycoddle 
that I’m going to have Brown bear the 
brunt. Somebody’s got to open the door 
or that bell will never stop ringing.” 

Then Dick’s feet in his bedroom slippers 
could be heard running down the uncar- 


A Social Failure 


19 


peted stairs. A moment later Mildred got 
into her wrapper and stood with her arm 
about her mother’s waist, shivering and 
staring down into the hall. 

If anything should happen to Dick it 
would be too tragic! Her mother adored 
him. 

The butler was now unfastening the storm 
doors, while directly behind him Dick waited 
with his pistol at a convenient level. 

Then both men stepped backward with 
astonished exclamations, allowing a queer, 
small figure to enter the hall without a 
word of protest. The next moment Mildred 
was straining her ears to hear one of the 
most bewitching voices she had ever imag- 
ined. Later an equally bewitching figure 
unfolded itself from a heavy coat. 

^Ht’s sorry I am to have disturbed you 
at such an hour,” the girl began. “But how 
was I to know that the train from Chicago 
would arrive at three o’clock in the morn- 
ing instead of three in the afternoon.^ I 
was hoping some one would be at the sta- 
tion to meet me, though of course I didn’t 
expect it, so I just took a cab and found 
the way here myself.” 


20 


In the Trenches 


Then the newcomer smiled with a kind 
of embarrassed wistfulness. 

For the first time beholding Dick^s pistol, 
which was now hanging in a dangerously 
limp fashion in his hand, she started. 

she exclaimed, “I suppose you 
think that in Nebraska we go about with 
pistols in our hands instead of pocket hand- 
kerchiefs; but, really, we donT welcome 
guests with them.” 

Having dropped her coat on the floor, 
the girl under the light looked so tiny 
that she seemed like a child. She had 
short, curly dark hair which her tight-fitting 
traveling cap had pressed close against her 
face. Her eyes were big and blue, and per- 
haps because she was pale from fatigue her 
lips were extremely red. 

Indeed, Dick Thornton decided, and never 
afterwards changed his opinion, that she 
was one of the best looking girls he had 
ever seen in his life. But who could she 
be, where had she come from, and what ■ 
was she doing in their house at such an ex- 
traordinary hour? 

Clearing his throat, Dick made a tre- 


A Social Failure 


21 


mendous effort to appear impressive. Yet 
he was frightfully conscious of his own 
absurdity. He knew that his hair must 
be standing on end, that his dressing gown 
had been donned in a hurry and that he 
had on slippers with a space between his 
feet and dressing gown devoid of covering. 
Moreover, what was he to do with his 
absurd pistol.^ 

‘H am afraid you have made a mis- 
take,” Dick began lamely. ‘Hf you are 
a stranger in New York and have just 
arrived to visit friends, perhaps we can 
tell you where to find them. Or, or, if 

you ” Dick did not feel that it was 

exactly his place to invite a strange young 
woman to spend the rest of the night at 
their home; yet as her cab had gone one 
could hardly turn her out into the street. 
Why did not his mother or Mildred come 
on down and help him out. Usually he 
knew the right thing to say and do, but 
this situation was too much for him. Be- 
sides, the girl looked as if she might be 
going to cry. 

But she was a plucky little thing, be- 
cause instead of crying she tried to laugh. 


22 


In the Trenches 


‘‘I have made a mistake, of course,” 
she faltered. ‘‘I was looking for Judge 
Richard Thornton’s home on Seventy- 
fourth Street, the number was 28 I thought. 
Has the cabman brought me to the wrong 
place?” 

Slowly Mrs. Thornton was now approach- 
ing them with Mildred hovering in the 
background. But Dick did not altogether 
like the expression of his mother’s face. 
It showed little welcome for the present 
intruder. Now what could he say to make 
her happier before any one else had a 
chance to speak. 

‘‘Why, that is my father’s name and 
our address all right, and I expect we are 
delighted to see you. I wonder if you 
would mind telling us your name and where 
you have come from? You see, we were 
not exactly looking for a visitor, but we 
are just as glad to see you.” 

The girl had turned at once toward 
Mrs. Thornton and it was astonishing 
how much dignity she possessed in spite 
of her childish appearance. 

“I regret this situation more than I 


A Social Failure 


23 


can express. I am sure I owe you an ex- 
planation, although I do not know exactly 
what it can be,” she began. ‘‘My name 
is Barbara Meade. Several weeks ago 
my father wrote to his old school friend. 
Judge Richard Thornton, saying that I 
was to be in New York for a short time 
on my way to England. He asked if it 
would be convenient to have me stay with 
you. He received an answer saying that 
it would be perfectly convenient and that 
I might come any day. Then before I 
left, father telegraphed.” Barbara’s lips 
were now trembling, although she still kept 
back the tears. “If you will call a cab for 
me, please, I shall be grateful to you. I 
would have gone to a hotel tonight, only 
I did not know whether a hotel would re- 
ceive me at this hour.” 

“My dear child, you will do no such 
thing. There has been some mistake, of 
course, since I have never heard of your 
visit. But certainly we are not going to 
turn you out in the night,” Mrs. Thornton 
interrupted kindly. 

Ordinarily she was supposed to be a 


24 


In the Trenches 


cold woman. Now her manner was so 
charming that her son and daughter desired 
to embrace her at the same moment. But 
there was no time for further discussion or 
demonstration, because at this instant a 
new figure joined the little group. Actually 
Judge Thornton looked more like a criminal 
than one of the most famous criminal lawyers 
in New York state. 

Nevertheless, immediately he put his arm 
about Barbara Meade’s shoulders. 

^‘My dear little girl, you need never 
forgive me; I shall not forgive myself nor 
expect any one else to do so. Certainly 
I received that letter from your father. 
Daniel Meade is one of my dearest friends 
besides being one of the finest men in the 
United States. Moreover, I wrote him 
that we should be most happy to have 
his daughter stay with us as long as she 
liked, but the fact of the matter is — ” 
several times the tall man cleared his 
throat. ‘‘Well, my family will tell you 
that I am the most absent-minded man on 
earth. I simply forgot to mention the mat- 
ter to my wife or any one else. So now 


A Social Failure 


25 


you have to stay on with us forever until 
you learn to forgive me.’^ 

Then Dick found himself envying his 
father as he patted their visitor’s shoulder 
while continuing to beg her forgiveness. 

But the next moment his mother and 
sister had led their little guest away up- 
stairs. Then when she was safely out of 
sight Dick again became conscious of his own 
costume — or lack of it. 


CHAPTER II 


Different Kinds of Courage 

M oving along Riverside Drive with 
sufficient slowness to grasp details 
had given the little western visitor 
an opportunity to enjoy the great sweep 
of the Hudson River and the beauty of the 
New Jersey palisades. 

On the front seat of the motor car Barbara 
sat with Dick Thornton, who had offered 
to take the chauffeur’s place for the after- 
noon. Back of them were Mrs. Thorn- 
ton and Mildred. It was a cold April day 
and there were not many other cars along 
the Drive. Finally Mrs. Thornton, leaning 
over, touched her son on the shoulder. 

‘H think it might be wiser, Dick, to go 
back home now. Barbara has seen the 
view of the river and the wind * has become 
so disagreeable. Suppose we turn off into 
Broadway,” she suggested. 

Acquiescing, a few moments later Dick 
( 26 ) 


Different Kinds of Courage 27 


swung his car up a steep incline. He was 
going at a moderate pace, and yet just 
before reaching Broadway he sounded his 
horn, not once, but half a dozen times. 
The crossing appeared free from danger. 
Then when they had arrived at about the 
middle of the street, suddenly (and it 
seemed as if the car must have leaped out 
of space) a yellow automobile came racing 
down Broadway at incredible speed. 

It chanced that Barbara observed the car 
first, although immediately after she heard 
queer muffled cries coming from Mildred 
and her mother. She herself felt no in- 
clination to scream. For one thing, there 
did not seem to be time. Nevertheless, 
impulse drew her eyes toward Dick Thorn- 
ton to see how he was affected. 

Of course he must have become aware 
of their danger when the rest of them had. 
He must know that all their lives were 
in deadly peril. Yet there was nothing 
in the expression of his face to suggest it, 
nor had his head moved the fraction of an 
inch. Strange to see him half smiling, his 
color vivid, his dark eyes unafraid, almost 


28 


In the Trenches 


as if he had no realization of what must 
inevitably happen. 

Closing her own eyes, Barbara felt her 
body stiffen; the first shock would be 
over in a second, and afterwards 

Nevertheless no horrible crash followed, 
but instead the girl fel . that she must 
be flying along through the air instead of 
being driven along the earth. For they 
had made a single gigantic leap forward. 
Then Barbara became aware that Mildred 
was speaking in a voice that shook with 
nervousness in spite of her effort at self- 
control. 

‘‘You have saved all our lives, Dick. 
How ever did you manage to get out of 
that predicament?” Afterwards she en- 
deavored to quiet her mother, who was 
becoming hysterical now that they were 
entirely safe. 

So they were safe! It scarcely seemed 
credible. Yet when Barbara Meade looked 
up the racing car was still speeding on its 
desperate way down Broadway, followed 
by two policemen on motorcycles, while 
their own automobile was moving quietly 


Different Kinds of Courage 


29 


on. The girl had a moment of feeling 
limp and ill. Then she discovered that 
Dick Thornton was talking to her and 
that she must answer him. 

He was still smiling and his brown eyes 
were untroubled, but now^that the danger 
had passed every bit of the color had left 
his face. Yet undoubtedly he was good 
looking. 

Barbara had to check an inclination to 
laugh. This was a tiresome trait of hers, 
to see the amusing side of things at the 
time when they should not appear amusing. 
Now, for instance, it was ridiculous to find 
herself admiring Dick Thornton’s nose at 
the instant he had saved her life. 

His face was almost perfectly mod- 
eled, his forehead broad and high with 
dark hair waving back from it like the 
pictures of young Greek boys. His brown 
eyes were deeply set beneath level brows, 
his olive skin and his mouth as attractive 
as a girl’s. 

Yes, her new acquaintance was hand- 
some, Barbara concluded gravely, and yet 
his face lacked strength. Personally she 


30 


In the Trenches 


preferred the bronzed and rugged type of 
young men to whom she was accustomed 
in the west. 

But what was it that her companion had 
been saying.^ 

‘‘I do trust, Miss Meade, that you are 
not ill from fright. Mildred, will you 
please lend us mother’s smelling salts for a 
little while, or had we best stop by a drug 
store 

Shaking her head Barbara smiled. She 
was wearing the same little close-fitting 
brown velvet hat of the night of her arrival. 
But today her short curls had fluttered out 
from under it and her eyes were wide open 
and bluer than ever with the wonderful 
vision of the first great city she had ever 
seen. 

‘‘Oh, dear me, no, there is nothing in the 
world the matter with me,” Barbara ex- 
postulated. “Why if I can’t go through a 
little bit of excitement like that, how do 
you suppose I am going to manage to be a 
Red Cross nurse in Europe in war times?” 

“You a war nurse?” Dick Thornton’s 
voice expressed surprise, amusement, and 


Different Kinds of Courage 


31 


disbelief. He turned his head sideways to 
glance at his companion. Forgive me,’^ 
he said, ^^but you look a good deal more 
like a bisque doll. I believe they do have 
dolls dressed as Red Cross nurses, set up 
in the windows of the toy shops. Shall 
I try to get a place in a window for 
you?” 

Barbara was blushing furiously, although 
she intended not to allow herself to grow 
angry. Certainly she must not continue 
so sensitive about her youthful appear- 
ance. There would be many more trials 
of this same kind ahead of her. 

‘H am sorry you think I look like a doll,” 
she returned with an effort at carelessness; 
‘4t is rather absurd in a grown-up woman 
to show so little character. My hair is 
short because I had typhoid fever a year 
ago. You know. I’m really over eighteen; 
I got through school pretty early and as I 
have always known what I wanted to do, 
I took some special courses in nursing at 
school, so I was able to graduate two years 
afterwards.” 

^^Oh, I see,” Dick murmured, appearing 


32 


In the Trenches 


thoughtful. ^‘Eighteen is older than any 
doll I ever heard of unless she happened 
to be a doll that had been put away in 
an old cedar chest years ago. Then she 
usually had the paint licked off, the saw- 
dust coming out and her hair uncurled.” 
Again Dick glanced around, grave as the 
proverbial judge. “You know, it does not 
look to me as if any of those alarming 
things had yet happened to you, else I 
might try to turn doctor myself.” 

Good-naturedly Barbara laughed. If her 
new acquaintance insisted upon taking her 
as a joke, at least she had enough sporting 
blood not to grow angry, or at least if she 
were angry not to reveal it. 

“Well, what are you going to be, Mr. 
Thornton?” Barbara queried, shrugging 
her shoulders the slightest bit. “As long 
as you need not develop into a physician 
on my account, are you to be a lawyer 
like your father?” 

Dick suppressed a groan. To look at 
her would you ever have imagined that 
this little prairie flower of a girl would 
develop into a serious-minded young wo- 


Different Kinds of Courage 


33 


man demanding to hear about ‘^your 
career’’? Any such idea must be nipped 
in the bud at once. 

‘‘Oh, no, I am certainly not going to 
study law, and if you don’t mind my men- 
tioning it, I get pretty bored with that 
suggestion. Everybody I meet thinks 
because my father is one of the biggest 
lawyers in the country that I must become 
his shadow. It is all right being known as 
my ‘father’s son’ up to a certain point, 
but I’m not anxious to have comparisons 
made between us as lawyers.” 

Barbara felt uncomfortable. She had 
not intended opening a subject that seemed 
to be such an unfortunate one. So she 
only murmured, “I beg your pardon.” 

And though Dick laughed and answered, 
“Don’t mention it,” there was little more 
conversation between them for the rest of 
the drive home. 

But once at home in the big, sunny 
library, stretched out in an arm chair, 
smoking while the girls were drinking tea, 
the young man became more amiable. 

He had changed his outdoor clothes for a 


3 


34 


In the Trenches 


velvet smoking jacket and his shoes for a 
pair of luxurious pumps. 

‘‘I say, Mildred, old girl, would you 
mind ringing the bell and having Brown 
bring me some matches?’’ he asked. Find- 
ing his own gone, he had simply turned his 
head and smiled upon his sister. It hap- 
pened that the bell was within only a few 
feet of him and she had to cross the room 
to accomplish his desire. 

Although Mildred was tired from a 
strenuous half hour devoted to comforting 
her mother since their return from the 
ride, without protesting or even appearing 
surprised, she did as she was asked. 

But Barbara Meade felt her own cheeks 
flushing. One need not stay in the Thorn- 
ton household for four entire days, as she 
had, before becoming aware that it was the 
son of the family to whom every knee must 
bow. His mother, sister, the servants 
appeared to adore him. It was true that 
Judge Thornton attempted to show a little 
more consideration for his daughter, but 
he was so seldom at home and when there 
his attention was usually upon some prob- 
lem of his own. 


Different Eands of Courage 


35 


More than once Barbara had felt sorry 
for Mildred. Of course, her position looked 
like an enviable one as the only daughter 
of a wealthy and distinguished man, with 
a beautiful mother and a charming brother. 
Nevertheless, however little one liked to 
criticize their hostess even in one’s own 
mind, Barbara could not but see that 
Mildred Thornton’s life with her mother 
was a difficult one. 

In the first place, Mrs. Thornton was 
a fashionable society woman. In spite of 
what might seem to most people riches, she 
was constantly talking about how extremely 
poor they were and how she hoped that 
Dick and Mildred would make matches 
that would bring money into the family. 
She had the same dark eyes and olive 
coloring that her son had inherited, and 
as her hair was a beautiful silver-white, 
it made her face appear younger. She 
seemed to treat her daughter Mildred’s 
plainness as a personal insult to herself and 
behaved as though Mildred could have no 
feeling in the matter. Several times the 
visitor had heard her refer to her daughter’s 
lack of beauty before strangers. 


36 


In the Trenches 


But that Dick Thornton should dare 
treat his sister with the same lack of con- 
sideration was insufferable! Barbara had 
a short, straight little nose with the delicate 
nostrils that belong to most sensitive per- 
sons. Now she could not help their arch- 
ing with disdain, although she hoped no 
one would notice her. 

Yet Dick was perfectly aware of her 
indignation and amused by it. He was 
accustomed to having girls angry with him; 
it was one of the ways in which they 
showed their interest. 

‘H wonder if I would like to know what 
Miss Barbara Meade is at this moment 
thinking of me.^’^ he demanded lazily, 
smiling from under his half-closed brown 
eyes and blowing a wreath of soft gray 
smoke into a halo about his own head. 

The girl’s blue eyes had the trick of 
darkening suddenly. It was in this way 
she betrayed her emotions before she could 
speak. 

‘H was thinking,” she answered in a 
clear, cold little voice, ‘‘that I have always 
been sorry before I never had a brother. 
But now I am not so sure.” 


Different Kinds of Courage 37 


An abominably rude speech! The girl 
could not decide whether or not she re- 
gretted having made it. Certainly there 
was an uncomfortable silence in the big 
room until Mildred broke it. 

She had been gazing thoughtfully into 
the fire, which the April day made 
agreeable, and talking very little. Now 
she shook her head in protest. 

“Oh, brothers aren’t altogether bad,” 
she smiled. 

Barbara stammered. 

“No, of course not; I didn’t mean that. 
You must both forgive me. You see, I 
have only a married sister who is years 
older than I am, and my father. I sup- 
pose I have gotten too used to saying what- 
ever pops into my head. Perhaps the men 
in the west are more polite to girls than 
eastern men. I don’t know exactly why, 
but they are bigger, stronger men; they 
live outdoors and because their lives are 
sometimes rough they try to have their 
manners gentle. Oh, goodness, I have 
said something else impolite, haven’t I?” 
Barbara ended in such consternation that 
her host and hostess both laughed. 


38 


In the Trenches 


“Oh, don’t mind me; please go right 
ahead if it relieves your feelings,” Dick 
remarked so humorously that Barbara felt 
it might be difficult to dislike him intensely, 
however you might disapprove of him. 

“Only,” he added, “don’t start shooting 
verbal fireworks at the poor wounded sol- 
diers whom you are going to attempt to 
nurse. If a fellow is down and out they 
might prove fatal. I say. Mill, did you 
ever hear anything more absurd? Miss 
Meade has an idea that she is going over 
to nurse the British Tommies. She looks 
more like she needed a nurse herself — with 
a perambulator.” 

“Yes, I know, Barbara has talked it all 
over with me,” Mildred replied. “We 
went together to the Red Cross head- 
quarters today to see about arrangements, 
when she could cross and what luggage 
she should take with her. Four American 
girls are to go in a party and after they 
arrive in England they will be sent where 
they are most needed. You see, Barbara’s 
mother was an Irish woman, so she feels 
she is partly British; and then her father 


Different Kinds of Courage 39 


was a West Point man. She meant to 
make her living as a nurse anyhow, so why 
shouldn’t she be allowed to help in the war? 
I understand exactly how Barbara feels.” 

Still gazing into the fire, Mildred’s face 
had grown paler and more determined. 
‘‘You see, I am going with her. I offered 
my own services and was accepted this 
morning. We saiMn ten days,” she con- 
cluded. 

‘‘You, Mildred? What utter tommy- 
rot!” Dick exclaimed inelegantly. “The 
mater is apt to lock you up in your room on 
a bread-and-water diet for ten days for 
even suggesting such a thing.” Then he 
ceased talking abruptly and pretended to 
be stifling a yawn. For, glancing up, he 
had discovered that his mother was unex- 
pectedly standing in the doorway. She 
was dressed for dinner and looked very 
beautiful in a lavender satin gown, but 
the expression on her face was not cheering. 

Evidently she had overheard Mildred’s 
confession and his sister was in for at 
least a bad quarter of an hour. Per- 
sonally Dick hoped his own words had 


40 


In the Trenches 


not betrayed her. For although he was 
a fairly useless, good-for-nothing charac- 
ter, he wasn^t a cad, and for some reason 
or other he particularly did not wish their 
visitor to consider him one. 


CHAPTER III 


Farewell 

I N the same sitting room and in the 
same chair, half an hour later, sat 
Barbara Meade, but in a changed 
mood. She was alone. 

More ridiculously childish than ever she 
looked, with her small face white and tears 
forcing their way into her eyes and down 
her cheeks. 

Yet from the music room adjoining the 
library came such exquisite strains of a 
world-old and world-lovely melody sung in 
a charming tenor voice, that the girl was 
compelled to listen. 

*^Drink to me only with thine eyes 
And I will pledge with mine.’^ 

Straight through the song went on to 
the end. But when it was finally finished 
there was a moment’s silence. Then Dick 
Thornton appeared, standing between the 
portieres dividing the two rooms. 

( 41 ) 


42 


In the Trenches 


“Say, I am awfully sorry there was such 
a confounded row,’^ he began. “But there 
is no use taking the matter so seriously, 
it is poor Mill’s funeral, not yours. You 
seem to be the kind of independent young 
female who goes ahead and does whatever 
reckless thing she likes without asking any- 
body’s advice. But I do wish you would 
give the scheme up too. Mildred will 
never be allowed to go with you. I don’t 
approve of it any more than mother does. 
Just you stay on in New York and I’ll 
show you the time of your life.” 

Dick looked so friendly and agreeable, 
enough to have softened almost any heart. 
But Barbara was still thinking of the past 
half hour. 

“Thank you,” she returned coldly. “I 
haven’t the faintest idea of giving up my 
purpose, even to ‘have the time of my 
life.’ And I do think you were hateful 
not to have stood by your sister. Besides, 
you might at least have said that you did 
not believe I had tried to influence Mil- 
dred, when your mother accused me. She 
was extremely unkind.” 


Farewell 


43 


Entering the library Dick now took a 
chair not far from their visitor’s, so that 
he could plainly observe the expressions 
on her face. 

‘‘Of course, I didn’t stand up for Mill; 
I wouldn’t let her go into all that sorrow 
and danger, even if mother consented,” he 
protested. “Your coming here and all the 
talk you two girls have had about the poor, 
brave, wounded soldiers and such stuff, of 
course has influenced Mill. It has even 
influenced me — a little. But the fact is 
the war in Europe isn’t our job.” 

“No, perhaps not,” the girl answered 
slowly, perhaps that she might add the 
greater effect; “but would you mind telling 
me just what is your^job? You have al- 
ready told me so many things that were 
not. Is it doing one-steps and fox trots 
and singing fairly well ? I presume I don’t 
understand New York society, for out 
west our young men, no matter how rich 
their fathers happen to be, try to amount to 
something themselves; they do some kind 
of work.” 

Under his nonchalant manner Dick had 


44 


In the Trenches 


become angry. But no one knew better 
than he the value of appearing cool in a 
disagreement with a girl. So he only 
shrugged his shoulders in a dandified 
fashion. 

‘‘I wonder why you think I am not at 
present engaged in a frantic search for a 
job on which to expend my magnificent 
energy.^” Here Dick purposely yawned, 
extending his long legs into a more repose- 
ful position. ‘^The fact is, I believe I must 
have been waiting for an uncommonly 
frank young person from the west to give 
me the benefit of her advice. What would 
you suggest as a career for me.^ Remem- 
ber, I saved your life this afternoon, so 
you may devote it to the unfortunate. 
Now what would you think of my turning 
chauffeur? Fm not a bad one; you ask 
our man. Who knows, perhaps driving 
an automobile is my real gift!’’ 

Of course, her companion’s good humor 
again put her in the wrong, although 
Barbara knew that she was wrong in any 
case. For what possible right had she, 
after having known Dick Thornton less 


Farewell 


45 


than a week, to undertake to tell him 
what he should or should not do? It was 
curious what a fighting instinct he had 
immediately aroused in her! She felt that 
she would almost like to hit him in order 
to make him wake up and realize that there 
was something in life besides being hand- 
some and good-natured and smiling lazily 
upon the world. 

However, Barbara now clasped her hands 
together, church fashion, inclining her curly 
head. 

“Beg pardon again. After all, what 
should a Prince Charming be except a 
Prince Charming?” she murmured. “You 
are a kind of liberal education. IVe lived 
such a work-a-day life, I can’t understand 
why it seems so dreadful to you and your 
family to do the work one loves in the 
place where it seems to be most needed. 
We nurses will be under orders from people 
older and wiser than we are. If we come 
close to suffering — well, one can’t live very 
long without doing that. But I don’t want 
to bore you; you will be rid of me for life 
in a little while, and Pll leave now if your 


46 


In the Trenches 


mother and father feel my plans are affect- 
ing Mildred.” 

“You will do no such thing.” Dick^s 
voice was curt and less polite than usual, 
but it was certainly decisive and so ended 
the discussion. 

A few minutes later, apparently in a 
happier frame of mind, Barbara Meade 
was about to go upstairs when at the door 
she turned toward her companion. 

“Please don’t think I fail to under- 
stand, Mr. Thornton, your not wishing 
Mildred to go through the discomforts 
and even the dangers of nursing the 
wounded soldiers. I suppose every nice 
brother naturally wishes to protect and 
look after his sister. I told you I had 
never had a brother, but you must not 
think for that reason I cannot appreciate 
what you must feel.” 

Then with a quick movement char- 
acteristic of her smallness and grace, Bar- 
bara was gone. 

Nevertheless Dick remained In the library 
alone until almost dinner time. 

Barbara was right in believing that he 


Farewell 


47 


hated the thought of his sister Mildred’s 
being away from the care and affection of 
her own family. Mildred might not be 
so handsome as he wished her and wasn’t 
much of a talker, still there was no doubt 
that she was a trump in lots of ways. Be- 
sides, after all, she was one’s own and only 
sister. Yet Dick was honest with himself. 
It was not Mildred alone whom he desired 
to protect from hardships. Absurd, of 
course, when the girl was almost a stranger 
to him, yet Barbara Meade appeared more 
unfitted for the task that she insisted upon 
undertaking than his sister. In the first 
place, Barbara was younger, and certainly 
a hundred times prettier. Then in spite 
of her ridiculous temper she was so tiny 
and looked so like a child that one could 
only laugh at her. Moreover — oh, well, 
the worst of it was, Dick felt convinced 
that she was just the kind of a girl he 
could have a delightful time with, if he 
had a proper chance. She had confessed 
to loving to dance in spite of her sarcasm. 
So she should have at least a few dances 
with him before fate swept her out of his 
way forever. * * * * 


48 


In the Trenches 


Ten days later, as early as nine o’clock 
in the morning, Mrs. Thornton’s limousine 
was to be seen threading its way in and out 
among the trucks and wagons along lower 
Broadway on its way to the American Line 
steamship pier, No. 62. 

Inside the car were seated Mrs. Thorn- 
ton and Mildred, Judge Thornton, Dick 
and Barbara Meade. Behind them a 
taxicab piled with luggage was following. 
The “Philadelphia” was sailing at eleven 
o’clock that morning and included among 
her passenger list four American Red Cross 
nurses on their way to a mission of relief 
and love. 

In the Thornton automobile not alone 
was Barbara Meade arrayed for an ocean 
crossing, but Mildred Thornton also ap- 
peared to be wearing a traveling outfit. 
More extraordinary, the greater part of 
the luggage on the taxicab behind them 
bore the initials “M. F. T.” Besides, 
Mildred was sitting close to her father with 
her cheek pressed against his shoulder and 
holding tight to his hand, while the Judge 
looked entirely and completely miserable. 


Farewell 


49 


Should anything happen to Mildred, he, 
who loved her best, would be responsible. 
For he had finally yielded to her persua- 
sions, upholding her in her desire, against 
the repeated objections of his wife and son. 
Just why he had come round to Mildred’s 
wish, for the life of him the Judge could 
not now decide. What was happening to 
this world anyhow when girls, even a gentle, 
sweet-tempered one like Mildred, insisted 
on ‘^making something of their own lives,” 
‘‘doing something useful,” “following their 
own consciences and not some one’s else?” 
Really the Judge could not at present recall 
with what arguments and pleadings his 
daughter had finally influenced him. But 
he did wonder why at present he should 
feel so utterly dejected at the thought of 
Mildred’s leaving, when her mother ap- 
peared positively triumphant. 

Yet the fact is that within the last few 
days Mrs. Thornton had entirely changed 
her original point of view. She had dis- 
covered that instead of Mildred’s engaging 
in an enterprise both unwomanly and un- 
becoming, actually she was doing the most 


50 


In the Trenches 


fashionable thing of the hour. Never 
before had Mildred received so much notice 
and praise. Positively her mother glowed 
remembering what their friends had been 
saying of Mildred’s nobility of character. 
How fine it was that she had a nature that 
could not be satisfied with nothing save 
social frivolities! 

Letters of introduction to a number of 
the best people in England had been pour- 
ing in upon them. One from Mrs. White- 
hall to her sister, the Countess of Sussex, 
was particularly worth while. Mrs. Thorn- 
ton had never before known that she dared 
include the writer among her friends. 
Moreover, Mildred had lately been re- 
ceiving unexpected attentions from the 
young men who had never before paid her 
the slightest notice. Half a dozen of them 
within the past few days had called to say 
good-by and express their admiration of 
her pluck. Two or three had declared 
themselves openly envious of her. For if 
there were great things going on in the 
world, no matter how tragic and dreadful, 
one would feel tremendously worth while 


Farewell 


51 


to be right on the spot and able to judge 
for oneself. 

Then Dick had reported that Mildred 
had been more than a halfway belle at a 
dance that he had insisted upon his sister 
and their visitor attending before they shut 
themselves off from all amusements. Such 
a lot of fellows wanted to talk to Mill 
about her plans that they seemed not to 
care that she could not dance any better. 

Although there were only between fifty 
and sixty passengers booked for sailing on 
the “Philadelphia’s” list, the big dock 
was crowded with freight of every kind. 

On an adjoining dock there was a tre- 
mendous stamping of horses. Not far off 
one of the Atlantic Transport boats was 
being rapidly transformed into a gigantic 
stable. Its broad passenger decks were 
being divided into hundreds of box stalls. 
Into the hold immensely heavy boxes were 
being hoisted with derricks and cranes. 
The whole atmosphere of the New York 
Harbor front appeared to have changed. 
Where once there used to be people about 
to sail for Europe now there appeared to 


52 


In the Trenches 


be things taking their place. No longer 
were pleasure-loving Americans crossing 
the ocean, but the product of their lands 
and their hands. 

However, Mildred and Barbara gave only 
a cursory attention to these impersonal 
matters, and Mildred’s family very little 
more. They were deeply interested in a 
meeting which was soon to take place. 

Their little party was to consist of four 
American nurses sent out to assist the 
British Red Cross wherever their services 
were most needed. 

So far Mildred and Barbara had not 
even seen the other two girls. However, 
Judge and Mrs. Thornton had been assured 
that one was an older woman, who had 
already had some years’ experience in 
nursing and could also act as chaperon. 
About the fourth girl nothing of any kind 
had been told them. 

Therefore, within five minutes after their 
arrival at the wharf. Miss Moore, one of 
the Red Cross workers in the New York 
headquarters from whom the girls 'had re- 
ceived instructions, joined them. With 


Farewell 


53 


her was a girl, or a young woman (for she 
might be any age between twenty or thirty) 
for wiiom Mildred and Barbara both con- 
ceived an immediate prejudice. They were 
not willing to call the sensation dislike, 
because travelers upon a humanitarian 
crusade must dislike no one, and especially 
not one of their fellow laborers. 

Eugenia Peabody was the stranger’s 
name. She had come from a small town in 
Massachusetts. Her clothes were severely 
plain, a rusty brown walking suit that 
must have seen long service, as well as 
a shabby brown coat. Then she had on 
an absurd hat that looked like a man’s, 
and her hair was parted in the middle and 
drawn back on either side. She had hand- 
some dark eyes, so that one could not call 
her exactly ugly. Only she seemed ter- 
ribly cold and superior and unsympathetic. 

But the fourth girl. Miss Moore explained, 
by some accident had failed to arrive in 
time for the steamer. She was to have 
come from Charleston, South Carolina, 
having made her application and sent her 
credentials from there. It was foolish of 


54 


In the Trenches 


her to have waited until the last hour be- 
fore arriving in New York. Now her train 
had been delayed, and as her passage had 
been engaged, the money would simply 
have to be wasted. Had the Red Cross 
Society known beforehand, another nurse 
could have taken her place. 

The next hour and a half was one of 
painful confusion. Surely so few passen- 
gers never before had so many friends to 
see them off. Farewells these days meant 
more than partings under ordinary cir- 
cumstances. No matter what pretense 
might be made to the contrary, in every 
mind, deep in every heart was the possi- 
bility that a passenger steamer might strike 
a floating mine. 

Of course, Barbara had been forced to 
say her hardest farewells before leaving her 
home in Nebraska. Nevertheless, she could 
not now help sharing Mildred’s emotions 
and those of her family. Besides, the 
Thorntons had been so kind to her in the 
past two weeks. Mrs. Thornton had 
apologized for blaming her for Mildred’s 
decision, but after all it was easy to under- 


Farewell 


55 


stand her feeling in the matter. Judge 
Thornton was one of the biggest-hearted, 
dearest men in the world. Then there was 
Dick! Of course, he was a good-for-nothing 
fellow who would never amount to much 
except to be a spoiled darling all his days! 
Yet certainly he was attractive and had 
been wonderfully sweet-tempered and cour- 
teous to her. 

Even this morning he had never allowed 
her to feel lonely for an Instant. Always 
he saw that she was among the groups of 
their friends who were showering attentions 
upon Mildred — ^books and flowers and 
sweets, besides various extraordinary things 
which she was recommended to use in her 
work. 

Dick’s farewell present Barbara thought 
a little curious. It was an extremely costly 
electric lamp mounted in silver to carry 
about in her pocket. 

‘‘It is to help you see your way, if you 
should ever get lost or have to go out at 
night while you are doing that plagued 
nursing,” he whispered just as the final 
whistles blew and the friends of the pas- 
sengers were being put ashore. 


56 


In the Trenches 


As Dick ran down the gang-plank, both 
Mildred and Barbara were watching him 
with their eyes full of tears. Suddenly 
he had to step aside in order not to run over 
a girl hurrying up the plank from the 
shore. She was dressed in deep mourning; 
her hair was of the purest gold and her eyes 
brown. She had two boys with her, each 
one of them carrying an extraordinary 
looking old-fashioned carpet bag of a pat- 
tern of fifty years ago. 

‘‘I regret it if I have kept you waiting,’’ 
she said in a soft, drawling voice to one of 
the stewards who happened to be nearest 
the gang-plank. ^^I’ve come all the way 
from Charleston, South Carolina, and my 
train was four hours late.” 

The tears driven away by curiosity, Mil- 
dred and Barbara now stared at each other. 
Was this the fourth girl who was to accom- 
pany them as a Red Cross nurse She 
looked less like a nurse than any one of 
them. Why, she was as fragile as possible 
herself, and evidently had never been away 
from home before in her life. Now she 
was under the Impression that the steamer 


Farewell 


57 


had been kept waiting for her. Certainly 
she was apologizing to the steward for 
delaying them. 

Yet a glance at their older companion 
and both girls felt a warm companionship 
for the newcomer. For if Miss Peabody 
had been discouraged on being Introduced to 
them, it was nothing to the disfavor she 
now allowed herself to show at the appear- 
ance of the fourth member of their little 
Red Cross band. 

A little later, with deep blasts from her 
whistle, the ^‘Philadelphia’’ began to move 
out. Amid much waving of handkerchiefs, 
both on deck and on shore, the voyage had 
begun. 


CHAPTER IV 


Making Acquaintances 

ii ■JT N my opinion no one of you girls 
I will remain in Europe three months, 
^ at least not as a nurse. You are 
going over because of an emotion or an 
enthusiasm — same thing! You are too 
young and have not had sufficient expe- 
rience for the regular Red Cross nursing. 
Besides, you haven’t the faintest idea of 
what may lie ahead of you,” Eugenia Pea- 
body announced. 

It was a sunshiny day, although not a 
calm one, yet the “Philadelphia” was 
making straight ahead. She was a nar- 
row boat that pitched rather than rolled. 
Nevertheless, a poor sailor could scarcely 
be expected to enjoy the plunging she w^as 
now engaging in. It was as if one were 
riding a horse who rose first on his forefeet 
and then on his hind feet, tossing his rider 
relentlessly back and forth. 

( 58 ) 


Making Acquaintances 


59 


So, although the four Red Cross girls 
were seated on the upper deck in their 
steamer chairs and at no great distance 
apart, no forcible protest followed the old- 
est one’s statement. 

However, from under the shelter of her 
close-fitting squirrel-fur cap Barbara’s blue 
eyes looked belligerent. She was wearing 
a coat of the same kind. The next moment 
she protested: 

^‘Of course, we have not had the expe- 
rience required for salaried nurses, and of 
course we are a great deal younger than 
you” (as Barbara was not enamored of 
Eugenia she made this remark with inten- 
tional emphasis). ‘‘But I don’t consider it 
fair for you to decide for that reason we 
are going to be useless. The Red Cross 
was willing that we should help in some 
way, even though we can’t be enrolled 
nurses until we have had two years’ hospital 
work. Mildred and I have both graduated, 
and Nona Davis has had one year’s work. 
Besides, soldiers, often when they are quite 
young boys, go forth to battle and do won- 
derful things. Who knows what we may 


60 


In the Trenches 


accomplish? Sometimes success comes just 
from pluck and the ability to hold on. Right 
this minute you can’t guess, Miss Peabody, 
which one of us is brave and which one 
may be a coward; there is no telling till 
the test comes.” 

Then after her long tirade Barbara again 
subsided into the depth of her chair. What 
a spitfire she was! Really, she must learn 
to control her temper, for if the four of 
them were to work together, they must be 
friends. Dick Thornton had been right. 
Perhaps the wounded soldiers might have 
a hard time with a crosspatch for a nurse. 
But this Miss Peabody was so painfully 
superior, so ‘‘Bostonese”! Even if she had 
come only from a small Massachusetts 
town, it had been situated close to the 
sacred city, and Eugenia had been educated 
there. Small wonder that she had little 
use for a girl from far-off Nebraska! 

Nevertheless, Eugenia’s cheeks had crim- 
soned at Barbara’s speech and her expres- 
sion ruffled, although her hair remained 
as smooth as if the wind had not been 
blowing at the rate of sixty miles an hour. 


Making Acquaintances 


61 


^‘That is one way of looking at things,” 
she retorted. ‘‘I suppose almost anybody 
willing to make sacrifices can be useful at 
the front these days,” she conceded. ‘^But, 
really, I do not consider that I am so very 
much older than the rest of you, even if 
I am acting as your chaperon. I have 
always looked older than I am. I was 
only twenty-live my last birthday and one 
can’t be an enrolled Red Cross nurse any 
younger than that — at least, not in 
America.” 

‘‘Oh, I beg pardon,” Barbara replied. 
At the same time she was thinking that 
twenty-five was considerably older than 
eighteen and nineteen, and that before 
seven years had passed she expected a good 
many interesting things to have happened 
to her. 

But a soft drawl interrupted Barbara’s 
train of thought. Issuing from the depth 
of a steamer blanket it had a kind of 
smothered sound. 

“I am older than the rest of you think. 
I am twenty-one,” the voice announced. 
“I only seem younger because I am stupid 


62 


In the Trenches 


and have never been away from home be- 
fore. My father was quite old when I was 
born, so I have nearly always taken care 
of him. He was a general in the Con- 
federate army. Fve heard nothing but 
war-talk my whole life and the great things 
the southern women sacrificed for the 
soldiers. My mother I don^t know a great 
deal about.” 

For a moment Nona seemed to be hesi- 
tating. “My father died a year ago. 
There was nobody to care a great deal 
what became of me except some old friends. 
So when this war broke out, I felt I must 
help if only the least little bit. I sold 
everything I had for my expenses, except 
my father’s old army pistol and the ragged 
half of a Confederate flag; these I brought 
along with me. But please forgive my 
talking so much about myself. It seemed 
to me if we were to be together that we 
ought to know a little about one another. 
I haven’t told you everything. My father’s 
family, even though we were poor ” 

Nona paused, and Barbara smiled. Even 
Eugenia melted slightly, while Mildred 


Making Acquaintances 


63 


took hold of the hand that lay outside the 
steamer blanket. 

Don’t trouble to tell us anything you 
would rather not, Miss Davis,” she re- 
turned. ‘‘We have only to see and talk 
to you to have faith in you. Of course, 
we don’t have to tell family secrets; that 
would be expecting rather too much.” 

With a sigh suggesting relief Nona Davis 
glanced away from her companions toward 
the water. The girl was like a white and 
yellow lily, with her pale skin, pure gold 
hair and brown eyes with golden centers. 
In her life she had never had an intimate 
girl friend. Now with all her heart she 
was hoping that her new acquaintances 
might learn to care for her. And yet if 
they knew what had kept her shut away 
from other girls, perhaps they too might 
feel the old prejudice! 

But suddenly happier and stronger than 
since their sailing, Nona straightened up. 
Then she arranged her small black felt hat 
more becomingly. 

“ndon’t want to talk all the time, only 
really I am stronger than I look. As I 


64 


In the Trenches 


know French pretty well, perhaps I may 
at least be useful in that way.” 

The girFs expression suddenly altered. 
A reserve that was almost haughtiness 
swept over it. For she had been the first 
to notice a fellow passenger walking up 
and down the deck in front of them. She 
had now stopped at a place where she could 
overhear what they were saying. The 
girls had agreed not to discuss their plans 
on shipboard. It seemed wisest not to let 
their fellow passengers know that they were 
going abroad to help with Red Cross nurs- 
ing. For in consequence there might be 
a great deal of talk, questions would be 
asked, unnecessary advice given. Besides, 
the girls did not yet know what duties 
were to be assigned them. They were 
ordered to go to a British Red Cross, deliver 
their credentials and await results. 

So everything that might have betrayed 
their mission had been carefully packed 
away in their trunks and bags. Moreover, 
in the hold of the steamer there were great 
wooden packing cases of gauze bandaging, 
medicines and antiseptics which Judge 


Making Acquaintances 


65 


Thornton had given Mildred and Barbara 
as his farewell offering. These were to be 
presented to the hospital where the girls 
would be stationed. 

Now, although Nona Davis had become 
aware of the curiosity of the traveler who 
had taken up a position near them, Eugenia 
Peabody had not. So before the younger 
girl could warn her she exclaimed: 

“Hope you won’t think I meant to be 
disagreeable. Of course, you may turn 
out better nurses than I; perhaps expe- 
rience fjn’r everything.” 

There was no doubt this time that 
Eugenia intended being agreeable, yet her 
manner was still curt. She seemed one of 
the unfortunate persons without charm, 
who manage to antagonize just when they 
wish to be agreeable. 

At this moment the stranger made no 
further effort at keeping in the background. 
Instead she walked directly toward the 
four girls. 

“I chanced to overhear you saying some- 
thing about Red Cross nursing,” she began. 
“Can it be that you are going over to help 


66 


In the Trenches 


care for the poor soldiers? How splendid 
of you ! I do hope you don’t mind my being 
interested ? ” 

Of course the girls did mind. However, 
there was nothing to do under the cir- 
cumstances. Barbara alone made a faint 
effort at denial. Eugenia simply looked 
annoyed because she had been the one 
who had betrayed them. Mildred showed 
surprise. But Nona Davis answered in a 
well-bred voice that seemed to put undesira- 
ble persons at a tremendous distance away: 

‘‘As long as you did overhear what we 
were saying, would you mind our not dis- 
cussing the question with you. We have 
an idea that we prefer keeping our plans a 
secret among ourselves.” 

Yet neither Nona’s words nor her man- 
ner had the desired effect. The stranger 
sat down on the edge of a chair that hap- 
pened to be near. 

“That is all right, my dear, if you pre- 
fer I shall not mention It. Only there is 
no reason why / should not know. I am 
a much older woman than any of you, and 
I too am going abroad because of this 


Making Acquaintances 67 


horrible war, though not to do the beauti- 
ful work you expect to do.’’ 

At this moment the newcomer smiled 
in a kind yet anxious fashion, so that 
three of the girls were propitiated. After 
all, she was a middle-aged woman of about 
fifty, quietly and inexpensively dressed, 
and she had a timid, confidential manner. 
Somehow one felt unaccountably sorry for 
her. 

‘‘I am traveling with my son,” she ex- 
plained. “You may have noticed the young 
man in dark glasses. My son is a news- 
paper correspondent and is now going to 
try to get into the British lines. He was 
ill when the war broke out or we should 
have crossed over sooner. There may be 
difficulties about our arrangements. After 
his illness I was not willing that he should 
go into danger unless I was near him. 
Then his eyes still trouble him so greatly 
that I sometimes help with his work.” 

She leaned over and whispered more con- 
fidentially than ever: 

“I am Mrs. John Curtis, my son is 
Brooks Curtis, you may be familiar with 


68 


In the Trenches 


his name. I only wanted to say that if 
at any time I can be useful, either on 
shipboard or if we should run across each 
other in Europe, please don’t hesitate to 
call upon me. I had a daughter of my 
own once and had she lived I have no 
doubt she would now be following your 
example.” 

Actually the older w^oman’s eyes were 
filling with tears, and although the girls 
felt embarrassed by her confidences they 
were touched and grateful, all except Nona 
Davis, who seemed in a singularly diffi- 
cult humor. 

“You are awfully kind, Mrs. Curtis, 
I am sure,” Mildred was murmuring, when 
Nona asked unexpectedly: 

“Mrs. Curtis, if your son has trouble 
with his eyes, I wonder why I have so 
often seen him with his glasses off gazing 
out to sea through a pair of immense tele- 
scope glasses? I should think the strain 
would be bad for him.” 

Half a moment the older woman hesi- 
tated, then leaning over toward the little 
group, she whispered: 


Making Acquaintances 


69 


“You must not be frightened by any- 
thing I tell you. Sailing under the Amer- 
ican flag we of course ought to feel per- 
fectly safe, but you girls must know the 
possibilities we face these days. I think 
perhaps because I am with him my son 
may be a little too anxious. However, I 
shall certainly tell him he is not to take 
off his glasses again during the voyage. 
You are right; it may do him harm.” 

A few moments later Mrs. Curtis strolled 
away. But by this time Nona Davis was 
sitting bolt upright with more color in her 
face than she had shown since the hour 
of her arrival. 

“I do hope we may not have to see a 
great deal of Mrs. Curtis,” she volunteered. 

“ Why not ^ ” Mildred asked. “ I thought 
her very nice. I feel that my mother would 
like us to be friends with an older woman; 
she might be able to give us good advice. 
Please tell us why you object to her?” 

The other girl shook her head. 

“I am sure I don’t know. I don’t sup- 
pose I have any real reason. You see, 
I don’t often have reasons for things; at 


70 


In the Trenches 


least, not the kind I know how to explain 
to other people. But my old colored 
mammy used to say I was a ^second 
sighter.’ ’’ 


CHAPTER V 


Lady Dorian^'* 

ERY carefully the young man in 



the dark glasses must have con- 


^ sidered which one of the four 
American girls traveling together he might 
expect to find most worth while. Then he 
chose Mildred Thornton. 

And this was odd, for to a casual ob- 
server Mildred was the least good looking 
and the least gay of the four. Even 
Eugenia, in spite of her severe manner, 
had a certain handsomeness and under 
softening infiuences might improve both 
in appearance and disposition. 

Nevertheless, it was with Mildred that 
Nona Davis, coming out of her stateroom 
half an hour before dinner, discovered 
the young man talking. 

It happened that Nona and Mildred 
shared the same stateroom while the two 
other girls were just across the narrow 


72 


In the Trenches 


passageway. As the decks were apt to 
be freer from other passengers at this 
hour preceding dinner, they had arranged 
for a quiet walk. But now, although seeing 
her plainly enough, Nona soon realized that 
Mildred had no idea of keeping her engage- 
ment. She was far too deeply engrossed 
in her new companion. It was annoying, 
this eternal feminine habit of choosing 
any kind of masculine society in preference 
to the most agreeable feminine! However, 
Nona made no sign or protest. She merely 
betook herself to the opposite side of the 
boat and started a solitary stroll. 

There was no one to interfere and she 
was virtually alone, as this happened to 
be the windy, disagreeable portion of the 
deck. Of their meeting with Mrs. Curtis 
the day before no one had spoken since, 
but now Nona could not help recalling 
her own impression. She was sorry for 
her sudden prejudice and more so for her 
open expression of it. 

‘H must try and not distrust people,’’ 
she thought remorsefully. ‘‘ Suspicion made 
my father’s life bitter and shut me away 


“Lady Dorian’^ 


73 


from other girls. So, should circumstances 
compel us to meet this Mrs. Curtis and her 
son (and one never knows when chance 
may throw strangers together), why I 
shall never, never say a word against 
them.’^ 

Nona was looking out toward a curious 
purple and smoke-colored sunset at the 
edge of the western sky as she made this 
resolution. Perhaps because the vision 
before her had somehow suggested the 
smoke of battle and the strange, dreadful 
world toward which they were voyaging. 
Eugenia was right. No one of them could 
dream of what lay ahead. 

For a moment she had paused and was 
standing with one hand resting on the 
ship’s railing when to her surprise Mildred 
Thornton’s voice sounded close beside her. 

“Nona, I want to introduce Mr. Curtis,” 
she began. “We have been trying to find 
you. Oh, I confess I did see you a few 
moments ago, only I pretended I had not. 
Mr. Curtis was telling me something so 
interesting I did not wish to interrupt him 
for fear he might not repeat it.” 


74 


In the Trenches 


Mildred^s eyes had darkened with excite- 
ment and she was speaking in a hushed 
voice, although no one appeared to be 
near. 

Nona Davis extended her hand to the 
young man. ‘‘My name is Davis, she 
began. “Miss Thornton forgot to men- 
tion it, for although we have known each 
other but a few days we are already using 
our first names. 

Then she struggled with a sense of dis- 
taste. The hand that received hers was 
large and bony and curiously limp and 
unresponsive. Afterwards Nona studied 
the young fellow’s face. It was difficult 
to get a vital impression of him when his 
eyes were so hidden from view, but of one 
thing she became assured — he was not 
particularly young. 

He was tall and had a fringe of light 
brown hair around a circular space where 
the hair was plainly growing thinner. His 
face was smooth, his mouth irregular and 
he had a large inquiring nose. Indeed, 
Nona decided that the young man sug- 
gested a human question mark, although 


“Lady Dorian” 


75 


his eyes — and eyes can ask more questions 
than the tongue — ^were partly concealed. 

“Mr. Curtis has been a war correspondent 
before,” Mildred went on, showing an 
enthusiasm that was unusual with her. 
“He has just returned from the war in 
Mexico and has been telling me of the 
horrors down there.” 

“But I thought,” Nona Davis replied 
and then hesitated. What she was think- 
ing was, that Mrs. Curtis had mentioned 
her son’s long illness. This may have fol- 
lowed his return; he was not particularly 
healthy looking. Not knowing exactly how 
to conclude her sentence, she was glad to 
have Mildred whisper: 

“Mri Curtis says he has secret infor- 
mation that our ship is carrying supplies 
for the Allies. Oh, of course we are on an 
American passenger boat and it sounds 
incredible, but then nothing is past belief 
these days.” 

Nevertheless, the other girl shook her 
head doubtingly. She was a little annoyed 
at the expression of entire faith with which 
Mildred gazed upon their latest acquaint- 


76 


In the Trenches 


ance. She wondered if Mildred were the 
type of girl who believed anything because 
a man told her it was true. Odd that she 
did not feel that way herself, when all her 
life she had been taught to depend wholly 
upon masculine judgment. But there were 
odd stirrings of revolt in the little southern 
girl of which she was not yet aware. She 
appeared flowerlike and gentle in her old- 
fashioned black costume. One would have 
thought she had no independence of body 
or mind, but like a flower could be swayed 
by any wind. 

‘‘Oh, I don’t expect we are carrying 
anything except hospital supplies of the 
same kind your father is sending, Mildred,” 
she answered. Then turning apologetically 
toward the young newspaper man: “I beg 
your pardon, I didn’t mean to doubt your 
word, only your information.” 

However, Brooks Curtis was not paying 
any attention to her. Instead he was 
gazing reproachfully at Mildred and at the 
same time attempting to smile. 

“Is that the way you keep a secret. Miss 
Thornton?” he demanded. “Of course. 


‘‘Lady Dorian” 


77 


your friend is right. I have no absolute 
information. Who has in these war times? 
I only wanted you to realize that in case 
trouble arises you are to count on my 
mother and me.” 

He appeared to make the last remark 
idly and without emphasis, notwithstand- 
ing Mildred flushed uneasily. 

“You don^t mean that there may be an 
explosion on shipboard or a danger of that 
kind,” she expostulated. “It sounds 
absurd, I know, but I am nervous about the 
water. I have crossed several times before, 
but always with my father and brother.” 

While she was speaking Nona Davis had 
slipped her arm reassuringly inside her 
new friend’s. “Nonsense,” she said quietly. 
“Mr. Curtis is trying to tease us.” Then 
deliberately she drew Mildred away and 
commenced their postponed walk. It was 
just as well, because at this instant Mrs. 
Curtis had come on deck to join her son. 

A little farther along and Nona pressed 
her delicate cheek against her taller com- 
panion’s sleeve. “For heaven’s sake don’t 
let Miss Peabody know you are afraid of 


78 


In the Trenches 


an accident at sea when you are going into 
the midst of a world tragedy,” she whis- 
pered. ‘‘Eugenia believes we are hopeless 
enough as it is. But whenever you are 
frightened, Mildred — and of course we 
must all be now and then — won’t you con- 
fide in me?” Nona’s tones and the ex- 
pression of her golden brown eyes were 
wistful and appealing. 

“You see, it is queer, but I don’t fear 
what other people do. I have certain 
foolish terrors of my own that I may tell 
you of some day. For one thing, I am 
afraid of ghosts. I don’t exactly believe 
in them, but I was brought up by an old 
colored mammy who instilled many of her 
superstitions into me.” 

Their conversation ended at this because 
Barbara and Eugenia Peabody were now 
walking toward them, both looking dis- 
tinctly unamiable. It was unfortunate that 
the two girls should be rooming together. 
They were most uncongenial, and so far 
spent few hours in each other’s society 
without an altercation of some kind. 

Nona smiled at their approach. “And 


“Lady Dorian’’ 


79 


east is east and west is west, and never 
the twain shall meet,^’ she quoted mis- 
chievously. Then she became sober again 
because she too had a wholesome awe of 
the eldest member of their party, and 
Eugenia’s eyes held fire. 

Some powerful current of electricity must 
have been at work in that portion of the 
universe through which the “Philadelphia” 
was ploughing her way that evening. 

For as soon as they entered the ship’s 
dining room the four girls became aware of 
a tense atmosphere which had never been 
there before. They chanced to be a few 
moments late, so that the other voyagers 
were already seated. 

Mildred Thornton, by special courtesy, 
was on the Captain’s right hand and 
Barbara Meade on his left (this attention 
was a tribute to Judge Thornton’s position 
in New York); Nona was next Mildred and 
Eugenia next Barbara. 

Then on Nona Davis’ other side sat a 
beautiful woman of perhaps thirty in whom 
the four girls were deeply interested. But 
not because she had been in the least 


80 


In the Trenches 


friendly with them, or with any one else 
aboard ship, not even with Captain Miller, 
who was a splendid big Irishman, one of the 
most popular officers in the service, and to 
whom the Red Cross girls were already 
deeply attached. 

Four days had passed since the ^‘Phila- 
delphia’^ sailed and the voyage was now 
more than half over. But except that she 
appeared on the passenger list as “Lady 
Dorian,” no one knew anything of the 
young woman^s identity. Her name was 
English, and yet she did not look English 
and spoke, when conversation was forced 
upon her, with a slightly foreign accent, 
which might be Russian, or possibly Ger- 
man. However, she never talked to any- 
one and only came to the table at dinner 
time, rarely appearing upon deck and never 
without her maid. 

But tonight as the girls took their places 
at the dinner table it was evident that Lady 
Dorian had been speaking and that her con- 
versation had been upon a subject which 
Captain Miller had requested no one men- 
tion during the course of the voyage — the 
war! 


“Lady Dorian” 


81 


Every one of the sixteen persons at the 
Captain’s table looked flushed and excited, 
Mrs. Curtis at the farther end was in tears, 
and an English banker. Sir George Paxton, 
who had lately been in Washington on 
public business, appeared in danger of 
apoplexy. 

“What is the trouble. Captain?” Bar- 
bara whispered, as soon as she had half a 
chance. She was a special favorite of 
Captain Miller’s and they had claimed 
cousinship at once on account of their 
Irish ancestry. 

“Bombs!” the Captain murmured, “not 
real ones; worse kind, conversational 
bombs. That Curtis fellow started the 
question of whether the United States had 
the right to furnish ammunition to the 
Allies. Then Lady Dorian began some 
kind of peace talk, to which the Englishman 
objected. Can’t tell you exactly what it 
was all about, as I had to try to quiet 
things down. They may start to blowing 
up my ship next; this war talk makes 
sane people turn suddenly crazy.” 

A movement made Barbara glance across 


82 


In the Trenches 


the table. Although dinner was only 
beginning, Lady Dorian had risen and was 
leaving. 

No wonder the girls admired her appear- 
ance. Barbara swallowed a little sigh of 
envy. Never, no never, could she hope to 
go trailing down a long room with all eyes 
turned upon her, looking so beautiful and 
cold and distinguished. This was one of 
the many trials of being small and darting 
about so quickly and having short hair and 
big blue eyes like a baby’s. One’s hair 
could grow, but, alas, not one’s self, after 
a certain age! 

Lady Dorian was probably about five 
feet seven, which is presumably the ideal 
height for a woman, since it is the height 
of the Venus de Milo. She had gray eyes 
with black brows and lashes and dark hair 
that was turning gray. This was perfectly 
arranged, parted at the side and in a low 
coil. Tonight she had on a gown of black 
satin and chiffon. Though she wore no 
jewels there was no other woman present 
with such an air of wealth and distinction. 

The instant she had disappeared, how- 


“Lady Dorian’^ 


83 


ever, Mrs. Curtis turned to her son, speak- 
ing in a voice sufficiently loud to be heard 
by every one at the Captain’s table. 

“I don’t believe for a moment that 
woman’s name is ‘Lady Dorian.’ She is 
most certainly not an English woman. 
Even if she is married to an Englishman 
she is undoubtedly pro-German in her 
sentiments. I shouldn’t be surprised if 
she is — ^well, most anything.” 

Brooks Curtis flushed, vainly attempt- 
ing to silence his mother. Evidently she 
was one of the irrepressible people who 
would not be silenced. The Red Cross 
girls need not have been flattered or an- 
noyed by her attentions. She appeared 
one of the light-minded women who go 
about talking to everybody, apparently 
conflding their own secrets and desiring 
other confidences in exchange. She seemed 
to be harmless though trying. 

But the Captain’s great voice boomed 
down the length of the table. 

“No personalities, please. Who is going 
to tell me the best story before I go back 
on duty? Perhaps Miss Davis will tell us 
some negro stories!” 


84 


In the Trenches 


Nona blushed uncomfortably. She was 
shy at being suddenly made the center of 
observation, yet she appreciated the Cap- 
tain’s intention. 

Nevertheless, and in spite of her best 
efforts, the disagreeable atmosphere in the 
dining room remained. Mrs. Curtis was 
not alone in her suspicion of the vanished 
woman. There was not another person at 
the table who did not in a greater or less 
degree share it. Lady Dorian was strangely 
reserved about her history in these troub- 
lous war times. Then she had been trying 
to keep her point of view concealed. How- 
ever, to the Red Cross girls, or at least 
to the three younger ones, she was a ro- 
mantic, fascinating figure. One could 
easily conceive of her in a tragic role. 
Secretly both Barbara and Nona decided 
to try to know her better if this were 
possible without intrusion. 

An hour after dinner and the Red Cross 
girls were in bed. There was nothing to 
do to amuse oneself, as the lights must be 
extinguished by half-past eight o’clock. 
The Captain meant to take no risks of over- 
zealous German cruisers or submarines. 


CHAPTER VI 


A Trial of Fire 


dawn Barbara awakened perfectly 



refreshed. She felt that she had 


^ ^ been asleep for an indefinite length 
of time, and although she made a slight 
effort, further sleep was impossible. How 
long before the hour for her bath, and how 
stuffy their little stateroom had become! 

Barbara occupied the upper berth. 
Swinging herself a little over the side she 
saw that Eugenia was breathing deeply. 
Asleep Barbara conceded that Eugenia 
might almost be called handsome. Her 
features were well cut, her dark hair smooth 
and abundant, and her expression peaceful. 
However, even with consciousness some- 
where on the other side of things Eugenia 
still looked like an old maid. Barbara 
wondered if she had ever had an admirer 
in her life. Although wishing to give 
Eugenia the benefit of the doubt, she 


( 85 ) 


86 


In the Trenches 


scarcely thought so. It would have made 
her less difficult surely! 

Twice Barbara turned over and burrowed 
her curly brown head in her pillow. She 
dared not even move very strenuously for 
fear of waking her companion and arousing 
her ire. Of course, it was irritating to be 
awakened -at daylight, but then how was 
she to endure the stupidity and stuffiness 
of their room without some entertainment.^ 
If only she could read or study her French, 
but there was not yet sufficient daylight, 
and turning on the electric light was too 
perilous. 

Staring up at the ceiling only a few feet 
above her head where the life belts pro- 
truded above the white planking, Bar- 
bara had a sudden vision of what the dawn 
must be like at this hour upon the sea. 
How she longed for the rose and silver 
spectacle. Had she not been wishing to 
see the sunrise every morning since coming 
aboard ship.^ And here at last was her 
opportunity. Should Eugenia be disagree- 
able enough to awaken she must simply 
face the music. 


A Trial of Fire 


87 


Noiselessly Barbara’s bare toes were 
extended over the side of the berth and 
then she reached the floor with almost no 
perceptible sound. She was so tiny and 
light she could do things more quietly than 
other people. A few moments later she 
had on her shoes and stockings, her under- 
clothing and her heavy coat, with the little 
squirrel cap over her hair. It would be 
cold up on deck. But one need not be 
particularly careful of one’s costume, since 
there would probably be no one about 
except a weary officer changing his watch. 
It was too early for the sailors to have 
begun washing the decks, else she must 
have heard the noise before this. Their 
stateroom was below the promenade deck. 

As Barbara closed the outside door of 
their room she heard Eugenia stirring. But 
she slipped away without her conscience 
being in the least troublesome. If Eugenia 
was at last aroused, she would not be there 
to be reproached. The thought rather 
added zest to her enterprise. Besides, it 
was wrong for a trained nurse to be a sleepy- 
head; one ought to be awake and ready at 


88 


In the Trenches 


all times for emergencies. Had Barbara 
needed spurs to her own ideals of helpful- 
ness in her nursing, she had found them in 
Eugenia’s and in Dick Thornton’s openly 
expressed doubts of her. Whatever came, 
she must make good or perish. 

The deck was not inspiring. Barbara 
had anticipated the sunrise. Over toward 
the eastern line of the horizon the darkness 
had lifted, but as yet there was no color. 
The sky and water were curiously the 
same, a translucent gray. One felt but 
could not see the light beneath. The ship 
was making steady progress because there 
was now no wind and the surface of the 
sea appeared perfectly smooth. 

For a few moments the girl walked up and 
down to keep warm and to wait for the 
dawn. Then she found her steamer chair, 
pulled it into such a position that it com- 
manded an unbroken view of the horizon, 
and covering herself with steamer blankets, 
stared straight ahead. 

A little later at some distance away she 
saw something black thrust itself above the 
surface of the water and then disappear. 
It looked like a gigantic nose. 


A Trial of Fire 


89 


Barbara's breath began to come more 
quickly and grasping hold of the arms of 
her chair she half arose. But now the 
black object had appeared again and was 
coming closer to the ship. Of course, she 
had been thinking of a submarine. How- 
ever, she could now see that the creature 
was being followed by a perfectly irrepres- 
sible family connection of porpoises, dip- 
ping their heads under the waves, flirting 
their tails in a picturesque fashion and 
dancing a kind of sea tango. 

Then the porpoises disappeared. Calmer 
than she had ever imagined grew the en- 
tire face of the water, stiller the atmos- 
phere. This was the strange moment of 
silence that follows the breaking of each 
new day. Perchance it may be nature’s 
time for silent prayer. 

Anyhow Barbara was familiar enough 
with this moment on land. It is the mo- 
ment in nursing the sick when one must 
be most watchful and strong. Then life 
struggles to get away from the exhausted 
body on strange new quests of its own. 
But Barbara had never faced a dawn upon 
the sea. 


90 


In the Trenches 


She wished now that she had called 
Mildred and Nona; perhaps they too 
would have cared for the oncoming spectacle. 
Then Barbara forgot herself and her soul 
filled with wonder. The sun had risen. 
It threw great streams of light across the 
sky like giant banners, of such colors as 
no army of the world has ever fought under, 
and these showed a second time upon the 
mirror of the sea. A few moments they 
stayed like this, and then melted together 
into red and violet and rose, until after a 
while the day's serener blue conquered and 
held the sky. 

Weary from the beauty and her own 
emotion, Barbara closed her eyes, meaning 
to go downstairs as soon as the sailors 
came on deck. However, she must have 
fallen asleep for a few moments. Reopen- 
ing her eyes she had a distinct conviction 
that she must be dreaming. Undoubtedly 
she was seeing an impossible thing. A 
few feet away from her chair, forcing its 
way between the planks of the floor, was 
a small spiral column of smoke. 

It could not be smoke, of course, one felt 


A Trial of Fire 


91 


convinced of that; yet it was odd that it 
should look and behave so much like smoke. 

Barbara got herself disentangled from 
her steamer rugs and jumped to her feet. 
This was a reliable method of waking one- 
self up. She took a single step forward 
and then turned and ran along the deck to 
the stairway more swiftly than she had 
ever run in her life. She was not mis- 
taken, it was smoke issuing from under- 
neath the deck. Possibly this meant 
nothing serious, no one in the world could 
know less of a ship than she did. Then 
there was a possibility that their steamer 
might be on fire, when the crew must be 
alarmed at once. Barbara had not studied 
to become a trained nurse without learning 
coolness. Under no circumstances must 
she cry fire and so create a panic. She had 
no other conscious thought except that she 
must find one of the ship’s officers or sailors 
and give the alarm. 

But before she was more than half along 
the companion way the girl heard a noise 
like the explosion of a muffled gun. 
Straightway she pitched face forward down 


92 


In the Trenches 


the steps. Nevertheless she was not hurt. 
The next instant she was up and running 
along the hall, reached the door of her own 
stateroom just as Eugenia flung the door 
open. At the same time Nona’s and 
Mildred’s white faces stared forth. 

“Put on some clothes quickly. There 
has been an accident, I don’t know how 
serious,” Barbara commanded. But the 
information was scarcely necessary. Al- 
ready the ship seemed alive with running 
feet. Commands were being shouted, while 
as by magic stewards were urging the pas- 
sengers to be calm, insisting there was no 
danger. The trouble was probably not 
serious, yet they must be prepared. 

Barbara entered her stateroom. Her 
pocketbook and a few valuables she must 
try to save in case they had to take to the 
life-boats. 

In the middle of the room she found 
Eugenia Peabody in her nightgown, shaking 
with terror and making not the least effort 
to get dressed. 

Barbara forgot the respect due to their 
chaperon. Deliberately she seized her 


A Trial of Fire 


93 


by the shoulders and began shaking her 
severely. It was absurd, or would have 
been under other circumstances. Eugenia 
was so much taller and larger and older 
than her companion that it looked as if a 
governess were being disciplined by a small 
pupil. 

However, the younger girl was terribly 
in earnest. ‘‘Don’t lose your senses,” she 
protested angrily. Then darting about 
the tiny room in an incredible time she 
secured the other girl’s clothes and got 
her into them in a haphazard fashion. 

Finally Eugenia fled to the closed door, 
only to be dragged back by her companion. 

“Your shoes and stockings, please. Miss 
Peabody,” Barbara argued determinedly. 
“There is no immediate danger or we 
would be warned. Now let us find the 
other girls. Remember we are Red Cross 
nurses and not young society women.” 
If the ship had been sinking Barbara Meade 
felt that she must have fired this sarcasm. 
But really Eugenia was so frightened she 
was beginning to like her better. It was 
human to be frightened; she was terrified 


94 


In the Trenches 


herself. But it would do no good to go 
to pieces. 

Nona and Mildred were both ready. So 
the four girls went together into the big 
saloon where all the other ship’s passengers 
were gathering. 

The fire was not supposed to be danger- 
ous. The men were fighting it, but they 
must wait to find out if it could be con- 
trolled. No, no one had an idea of what 
had caused the explosion. 

Of course, a number of the women were 
crying and some of the men were white as 
ghosts, others were laughing foolishly. . 

Mrs. Curtis was distinguishing herself 
by having an attack of hysteria in the arms 
of her son. Very quietly Mildred Thorn- 
ton went up and took hold of the older 
woman’s hand. 

‘‘Let us find a seat somewhere and talk,” 
she said soothingly. But Mrs. Curtis did 
not wait to be seated. 

“You see,” she sobbed, clutching Mil- 
dred’s arm, “the explosion occurred right 
in our corridor. I was asleep when suddenly 
there was a dreadful noise and my room 


A Trial of Fire 


95 


filled with smoke. Brooks managed to get 
to me the next instant. No one could 
have felt the shock as much as I did, except 
Lady Dorian. Her room is across from 
mine and I believe she was slightly in- 
jured. Has anyone seen her?’’ 

At this moment the second officer entered 
the saloon. His face was white, but his 
lips wore a steady, automatic smile. 

“Captain Miller wishes me to inform you 
that there is no further danger,” he shouted. 
“The ‘Philadelphia’ will continue her jour- 
ney to Liverpool. We have discovered 
the cause of the fire and the men have 
smothered it. The passengers will kindly 
return to their staterooms and breakfast 
will be served at as early an hour as pos- 
sible.” 

At this moment Barbara Meade felt a 
light touch on her arm. Mildred was over 
in a corner with Brooks Curtis and his 
mother; Eugenia was talking to a number 
of equally excited strangers. So it was 
Nona Davis who said: 

“Don’t you think, Barbara, we might 
go and offer our services to Lady Dorian? 


96 


In the Trenches 


If she really is hurt, as Mrs. Curtis said, 
perhaps we may be able to do something 
for her. In any case I feel we ought to 
show our interest. She is not popular on 
board ship, and even if she 'resents our 
coming I think we shall have done the 
kindest thing.” 

Barbara nodded her agreement, glanc- 
ing admiringly at Nona Davis. Nona was 
such an embodiment of refinement in man- 
ner and appearance that it would be diffi- 
cult to treat her ungraciously. 


CHAPTER VII 


The Landing 

is too horrible and too absurd !’'’ 

I said Barbara, a little brokenly. 

^ The ‘‘Philadelphia’^ was now not 
far from Liverpool, proceeding with in- 
finite caution through the submarine and 
mine-haunted waters. In great letters her 
name was painted on either side and never 
did the Stars and Stripes float more con- 
spicuously overhead. 

Dressed for the arrival in England, Bar- 
bara and Nona were standing side by side 
at a little distance from their fellow pas- 
sengers. Mildred was seated with the news- 
paper correspondent and his mother, and 
Eugenia was talking with a good deal of 
interest to the English banker. 

Nona did not answer the other girl’s 
speech immediately. She had frowned, 
started to say something and then evidently 
changed her mind. Both she and Barbara 

( 97 ) 


7 


98 


In the Trenches 


looked absurdly young and girlish for the 
work ahead of them. Moreover, in their 
diiferent ways they were typically Ameri- 
can, although their types were not the 
familiar ones known to most Europeans. 

Barbara had the vivacity, the alertness 
and the ^^goaheadiveness” of the western 
girl. And in spite of being only a minia- 
ture physical edition of these traits of 
character she was not miniature in any 
other sense. Nona was more difficult to 
explain. She appeared so exactly what 
she had been brought up to be and yet she 
might surprise one by unexpected charac- 
teristics. She was almost too refined in 
her manner and aspect; it gave her a look 
of delicacy and diffidence. And in some 
ways Nona was shy. Nevertheless, there 
was a possibility that she might have the 
strength and mettle which one is supposed 
to find in a thoroughbred horse. 

Finally she returned in her quiet drawl, 
which did not make her remark less 
emphatic: 

‘‘Don’t worry, Barbara dear, at least 
not more than you can help. It has been 


The Landing 


99 


dreadful to have Lady Dorian a prisoner 
for these last few days, yet Captain Miller 
has been as polite as he could be under the 
circumstances. You see, as soon as the 
men discovered that the explosion on the 
ship had been intentional, there had to be 
a scapegoat. And you know Lady Dorian 
is mysterious. She won’t say what her 
real name is and she won’t surrender the 
odd iron box of papers that she is carrying 
with her. Besides, the accident did start 
either inside or near her stateroom. The 
small safe which must have contained the 
explosive was found not far away.” 

Nona paused. Though Barbara had lis- 
tened politely enough she now shrugged 
her shoulders, saying reproachfully, ^^Why, 
Nona, how odd you are! Actually you 
talk as if you believed Lady Dorian guilty! 
Always before you have been her staunch- 
est champion. Besides, she seems to have 
taken a great fancy to you. Now if Mil- 
dred had been speaking I should have un- 
derstood. She has been so influenced by 
Mrs. Curtis, or by her son; but ” 

A peculiar expression crossed her com- 


100 


In the Trenches 


panion’s face which at the instant silenced 
Barbara. 

“Oh, no, I don’t think Lady Dorian 
guilty; the idea is ridiculous,” Nona 
whispered. “So far as we have been able 
to judge, she is one of the gentlest people 
in the world. The box of papers may 
prove that she is sacrificing herself for her 
country in some strange way. She won’t 
be able to keep them hidden once she lands. 
Captain Miller says that they will have to 
be given up to the proper authorities. He 
did not insist upon her relinquishing them 
upon his ship, because he had as much as 
he could do to get us ashore in safety. Be- 
sides, Lady Dorian is a woman. Captain 
Miller says an Irishman had best leave 
such a situation alone. I am not sure he 
really suspects her.” 

At this moment, hearing footsteps near, 
Nona Davis turned from looking out to- 
ward the sea. 

Approaching the place where they stood 
was the woman about whom they had just 
been talking. She was dressed in dark- 
blue cloth with a small hat of the same 


The Landing 


101 


shade trimmed in a single darker feather. 
Behind her came her maid carrying a long 
coat, and on either side of her were two of 
the ship’s officers. They were entirely 
respectful, although never getting any dis- 
tance away. However, they need not have 
been fearful, because the woman’s hands 
were locked together with a small steel 
chain. 

She seemed pale and ill and yet, oddly 
enough, neither frightened nor ashamed. 

But the sight of her handcuffs had set 
Barbara’s cheeks flaming indignantly. Yet 
they aroused an odd point of view. Could 
Nona be right in her suggestion that people 
commit strange crimes in the name of 
country in times of war, crimes from which 
their souls would have shrunk in horror 
during peace No, guilt of any kind was 
impossible to imagine in connection with 
their new friend. In a sense Lady Dorian 
had become their friend, since she and 
Nona had been helping to care for her. 
Lady Dorian had been ill ever since the 
night of the explosion and the accusation 
following upon it. 


102 


In the Trenches 


However, while she had been thinking, 
Nona, who was usually slower in her 
movements, had crossed over and slipped 
her arm inside the older woman’s. 

They made a queer, effective picture 
standing together. Barbara was conscious 
of it before joining them. 

They were both women of refinement, 
who looked as if they should be sheltered 
from every adversity. Nona was dressed 
in shabby black, since all the money she 
had was being devoted to her expenses. 
Lady Dorian’s costume suggested wealth. 
Nona was delicately pretty, with promise 
of beauty to come, while the older woman 
was at the zenith of her loveliness. Never- 
theless, something they had in common. 
Barbara’s western common sense asserted 
itself. ‘‘Perhaps it is because they both 
belong to ‘first families,’ ” she thought 
wickedly, and wondered if this were a good 
or evil fortune. Certainly until she reached 
them, Nona and Lady Dorian, were as com- 
pletely alone as if the ship’s deck had been 
a desert island. 

Five minutes before several dozen per- 


The Landing 


103 


sons had been loitering in the neighbor- 
hood, impatiently watching and praying 
to be landed as soon as possible. But as 
Lady Dorian advanced they had retreated. 
Perhaps they had meant it kindly, for it 
is a painful shock to see a fellow being a 
prisoner. Lady Dorian had been mis- 
trusted, but she had not yet been con- 
demned. Suspicion is not evidence. 

However, the little group did not remain 
alone for long, for soon after both girls 
beheld Eugenia Peabody walking resolutely 
toward them. She happened to have been 
born a determined character, and her 
nursing had developed rather than dimin- 
ished her determination. 

Instantly Barbara and Nona became 
aware of Eugenia’s intention and longed to 
frustrate it. But they both felt power- 
less, because Eugenia did not speak or 
even look at them. Her dark eyes were 
leveled straight at Lady Dorian. She 
appeared righteous and severe, but at the 
same time impressive. 

Moreover, as soon as she began talking 
the older woman flushed and for the first 
time the tears came into her eyes. 


104 


In the Trenches 


don^t wish to be rude or unkind, 
Lady Dorian, Eugenia remarked stiffly, 
^‘but I do ask you to cease any suggestion 
of intimacy with Miss Meade or Miss 
Davis. They have told you, of course, 
that we are now on our way to nurse the 
wounded British soldiers. Well, I am not 
for an instant accusing you of being a spy 
or having anything to do with the accident 
aboard our steamer; nevertheless, you are 
strongly suspected. Certainly you can 
see for yourself how young and inexperi- 
enced Barbara Meade and Nona Davis 
both are. They are in my charge and 
must not start their work of nursing under 
any cloud. By and by if you are cleared 
and we should happen to meet again, why 
then of course if you liked you could be 

friendly. Now ” 

Eugenia stopped, but there was no doubt- 
ing what she meant. Although Barbara 
and Nona were both furiously angry at 
her interference and sorry for their new 
friend, nevertheless there was that tire- 
some conviction they had so often felt 
since sailing — Eugenia, though trying, was 
frequently right. 


The Landing 


105 


Evidently Lady Dorian thought so too. 
Instinctively she lifted her hands as though 
intending to offer one of them to Miss 
Peabody. But finding this Impossible she 
dropped her dark lashes to hide her 
emotion and then answered as serenely as 
possible: 

^‘You are entirely right, Miss Peabody, 
and I am to blame for not having thought 
before of what you have just said to me. 
Please believe that I did not think. Miss 
Davis and Miss Meade have been very 
good to me and their sympathy and care 
have helped me endure these last three 
days. I don^t know many American girls, 
but not for a great deal would I allow my 
acquaintance to make things difficult for 
them. It would be a poor return. I 
shall be arrested as soon as we arrive in 
Liverpool, so I think we had best say fare- 
well at onceo^^ 

Lady Dorian attempted no denial and 
no explanation. As she finished her speech 
she glanced first at Nona and then at 
Barbara and let her eyes say her farewells; 
then she stepped back a few feet nearer 
her guards. 


106 


In the Trenches 


Deliberately Nona followed her. Ap- 
parently unconscious of the presence of 
any one else she lifted up her face and 
touched her lips to the older woman’s. 

believe in you implicitly,” she mur- 
mured. ‘‘Yes, I know there are many 
things you do not wish to explain at present, 
and of course I really know nothing in the 
world about you. Only I feel sure that we 
shall some day meet again.” 

Nona’s faith proved unfortunate. For 
the first time Lady Dorian showed signs of 
breaking down. But the next moment, 
smiling, she indicated a curious scroll pin 
that was caught in the lace of her dress. 

“Will you take that, please,” she whis- 
pered, “and keep it until you have better 
reason for your faith in me.^” 

Following Eugenia, Barbara glanced curi- 
ously at Nona Davis. She was not easy 
to comprehend. After all, she it was who 
had emphasized all the reasons for doubt- 
ing their new friend and then declared her 
belief in her entire innocence. It was 
merely that her faith did not depend on 
outward circumstances. Barbara won- 


The Landing 


107 


dered if she herself were equally as con- 
vinced. Then her conflicting sensations 
annoyed her. As usual, she began quarrel- 
ing with Eugenia Peabody. 

‘‘If you are taking us to join Mildred and 
the Curtis family, Eugenia, then frankly 
I prefer other society. Nona and I had 
decided that we wished to be by our- 
selves when we first see the coasts of Eng- 
land. But so long as you feel you must be 
so terribly careful about chaperoning us I 
would like to say that we know nothing 
about Brooks Curtis or Mrs. Curtis except 
what they have told us, and Mildred Thorn- 
ton has been almost exclusively in their 
society for the past few days.’^ Barbara 
tried to smile, but she looked very tiny and 
forlorn. She was homesick and the part- 
ing with Lady Dorian had been disturbing. 
Besides, Mildred was Dick Thornton^s 
sister and she had more or less promised 
Dick to try and look after her. Could 
anything much more disastrous occur than 
to have Mildred become interested in an 
unknown and presumably poor newspaper 
reporter? Certainly Brooks Curtis showed 


108 


In the Trenches 


no signs of being either rich or famous in 
spite of his mother’s claims for him. Then 
the thought of Mrs. Thornton’s anger made 
Barbara wish to sigh and smile at the same 
time. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A Meeting 

T he four Red Cross girls were walk- 
ing about in one of the most 
beautiful gardens in England. It 
was late afternoon and they were already 
dressed for dinner. 

The Countess of Sussex, to whom they 
had been introduced by her sister in New 
York City, had invited them down from 
London for a few days before leaving for 
their work among the soldiers. In another 
thirty-six hours they were expecting to 
cross the Channel. 

Of the four girls, Nona Davis seemed 
most to have altered in her appearance 
since leaving the ship. Indeed, no one 
could have dreamed that she could sud- 
denly have become so pretty. But she 
had been half-way ill all the time of their 
crossing and disturbed about a number of 
things. Here in England for some strange 

( 109 ) 


110 


In the Trenches 


reason she felt unexpectedly at home. The 
formality of the life on the great country 
estate, the coldness and dignity of many 
of the persons to whom they had been pre- 
sented, the obsequiousness of the servants, 
troubled her not at all. And this in spite 
of the fact that the other three girls, 
although disguising the emotion as well as 
they knew how, were in a state of being 
painfully critical of England and the Eng- 
lish. Possibly for this very reason Nona 
had made the best impression, although 
the letters of introduction which they had 
so far used had been originally given to 
Mildred Thornton. 

But in a way perhaps Nona was more 
like an English girl than the others. She 
had lived the simplest kind of life in the 
beautiful old southern city of Charleston, she 
and her father and one old colored woman, 
almost lost in the big, shabby house that 
sheltered them. And they had been trag- 
ically poor. Nevertheless, a generation 
before Nona^s ancestors had been accus- 
tomed to an existence of much the same 
kind as the English people about them. 


A Meeting 


111 


although a much more friendly one, with 
negro servants taking the place of white 
and with a stronger bond of affection than 
of caste. 

This afternoon Nona felt almost as if 
she were in her own rose garden in Charles- 
ton, grown a hundred times larger and more 
beautiful. She walked a little ahead of the 
other three girls, almost unconscious of 
their presence and dreaming of her own 
shut-in childhood and the home she had 
sold in order to give her services to the 
wounded in this war. 

Yet she looked as remote from the 
thought of war and its horrors as one could 
possibly imagine. She had on a white 
muslin dress made with a short waist and 
long full skirt; a piece of old lace belonging 
to her father’s mother, an old-time Vir- 
ginia belle, crossed over her slight bosom, 
was fastened with a topaz and pearl pin. 
Her pale gold hair was parted on one side 
and then coiled loosely on the crown of 
her head. It did not curl In the wilful 
fashion that Barbara’s did, but seemed to 
wave gently. Her pallor was less notice- 


112 


In the Trenches 


able than usual and the irises of her brown 
eyes were like the heart of the topaz. 
Then with an instinct for color which every 
normal girl has, Nona had fastened a golden 
rose, the soleil d'or, or sun of gold, at her 
waist. Because it was cool she also wore a 
scarf floating from her shoulders. 

“Nona looks like this garden,’’ Barbara 
remarked to her two companions, when 
they had stopped for a moment to examine 
a curiously trimmed box hedge, cut to 
resemble a peacock, “while I — I feel ex- 
actly like a cactus plant rooted out of a 
nice bare desert and transplanted in the 
midst of all this finery. I can feel the 
prickly thorns sticking out all over me. 
And if you don’t mind and no one is listen- 
ing I’d like to let the American eagle screech 
for a few moments. I never felt so Ameri- 
can in my life as I have every minute since 
we landed. And as we have come to nurse 
the British I must get it out of my system 
somehow.” 

The two girls laughed, even Eugenia. 
Barbara had given such an amusing descrip- 
tion of herself and her own sensations. 


A Meeting 


113 


And she did not look as if she belonged in 
her present environment, nevertheless, she 
was wearing her best dress, made by quite 
a superior Lincoln, Nebraska, dressmaker. 
It was of blue silk and white lace and yet 
somehow was not correct, so that Barbara 
really did appear like the doll Dick Thorn- 
ton had once accused her of resembling. 

Mildred Thornton had a suitable and 
beautiful costume of pearl-gray chiffon 
and Eugenia only a plain brown silk, neither 
new nor becoming. But, as she had ex- 
plained to their hostess, she had not come 
to Europe with any thought of society, 
but merely in order to assist with the Red 
Cross nursing. Eugenia seemed to be very 
poor; indeed, though only one of the three 
other girls had any fortune, Eugenia’s 
poverty was more apparent than Nona’s. 
All her traveling outfit was of the poorest 
and she was painfully economical. But, 
as the Countess had declared that they 
were leading the simplest kind of life in 
the country, and because of the war doing 
almost no entertaining, Eugenia had con- 
sented to leave their lodgings in London 
8 


114 


In the Trenches 


for this short visit. She was particularly 
interested, since the smaller houses on the 
estate had been given over to the Belgian 
refugees, and Eugenia felt that this might 
be their opportunity for learning some- 
thing of the war before actually beholding 
it. 

The four girls were on their way now to 
visit several of the cottages where the 
Belgian women and children were located. 
But when the three girls had finished their 
few moments of conversation Nona Davis 
had disappeared. 

‘‘She will probably follow us a little 
later,” Eugenia suggested; “we simply 
must not wait any longer, or dinner may be 
announced before we can get back to the 
castle.” 

However, Nona did not follow them, 
although she soon became conscious that 
the other girls had left her; indeed, saw 
them disappearing in the distance. 

The truth is that at the present time she 
had no desire to see or talk with the Belgian 
refugees, nor did she wish any other com- 
pany than her own for the next half hour. 


A Meeting 


115 


^ She had been so accustomed to being 
alone for a great part of her time that the 
constant society of her new friends had 
tired her the least bit. Oh, she liked them 
immensely. It was not that, only that 
some natures require occasional solitude. 
And no one can be really lonely in a garden. 

Had there been wounded Belgian soldiers 
on the Countess’ estate Nona felt that 
she would have made the effort to meet 
them, but up to the present she had not 
seen an injured soldier, although soldiers 
of the other kind she had seen in great 
numbers, marching through the gray streets 
of London, splendid, khaki-clad fellows, 
handsome and serious. Even for them 
there had been no beating of drums, no 
waving of flags. Nona was thinking of 
this now while half of her attention was 
being bestowed on the beauties surrounding 
her. England was not making a game or a 
gala occasion of her part in this great war; 
for her it was a somber tragedy with no 
possible result save victory or death. 

During her divided thinking Nona had 
wandered into a portion of the garden 


116 


In the Trenches 


known as ‘‘The Maze.” It was formed of a 
great number of rose trellises, the one over- 
lapping the other until it was almost impos- 
sible to tell where the one ended and the 
other began. Nona must have walked 
inside for half an hour without the least 
desire to escape from her perfumed bower. 
The scene about her seemed so incredibly 
different from anything that she had the 
right to expect, she wished the impression 
to sink deeply into her consciousness that 
she might remember it in the more sorrow- 
ful days to come. 

Then unexpectedly the garden came to 
an end and the girl stepped out onto a green 
lawn, with a small stone house near by 
which she recognized as the gardener’s 
cottage. 

Between the garden and the house, how- 
ever, prone on the ground and asleep, lay 
a long figure. 

Nona caught her breath, first from sur- 
prise and next from pity. 

A heavy rug had been placed under the 
sleeper and a lighter one thrown over him. 
Evidently he had been reading and after- 


A Meeting 


117 


wards had fallen asleep, for magazines and 
papers were tumbled about and the cover 
partly tossed off. 

At least, Nona could see that the figure 
was that of a young man of about twenty- 
two or three and that he must recently 
have been seriously ill. It was odd that 
under his tan his skin could yet manage 
to show so pallid and be so tightly drawn 
over his rather prominent cheek bones and 
nose. By his side were a pair of tall 
crutches and one of his long legs was 
heavily bandaged. 

Nona was standing within a few feet 
of him, perfectly still, not daring to move 
or speak for fear of waking him. Evidently 
the young man was the gardener’s son who 
had come home on a leave of absence while 
recovering from a wound. 

But the next instant and without stirring, 
his eyes had opened and were gazing lazily 
into Nona’s. 

“It is the fairy story of the ^Sleeping 
Beauty’ backwards,” he began, without 
the least betrayal of amusement or surprise. 
“You see, our positions really ought to be 


118 


In the Trenches 


reversed. You should be sleeping here. 
Then I should not in the least mind behaving 
as the Prince did when he woke the lovely 
Princess. He kissed her, I believe.’’ 

Nona was startled and a little frightened. 
But one could not be frightened of a boy 
who must have been terribly injured and 
was now trying to fight his way back to 
life with what gayety he could. 

‘‘Are you the gardener’s son?” she 
asked, a little after Eugenia’s manner and 
really quite foreign to her own. She had 
never seen a young man with such blue 
eyes as this one had, nor such queer brown 
hair that seemed to have been burned to 
red in spots. 

“I am a son of Adam,” he answered, 
still grave as ever, “and he was, I have 
been told, the earth’s first gardener. Now 
tell me: Are you a Princess?” 

The girl smiled a little more graciously. 
She had possessed very few boy friends 
and certainly no one of them had ever 
talked to her in this fashion. However, it 
was amusing and if it entertained the 
young fellow there could be no harm in their 


A Meeting 


119 


talking. Nona Davis had the poise and 
understanding that came of gentle birth. 

So she shook her golden head gravely. 

‘‘I am not a Princess, I am sorry to spoil 
your fairy story. No, I am just an Ameri- 
can girl who has come over to try and be a 
little useful with the Red Cross work. My 
friends and I met the Countess of Sussex 
the other day and she was kind enough to 
ask us down to see her place before we leave 
for the front.’^ 

During her speech the young man had 
been attempting to get himself off the 
ground by rising on his elbow. But even 
with this movement he must have wrenched 
his wounded leg, for immediately after he 
dropped back again, and although suppress- 
ing a groan, Nona could see that perspira- 
tion had broken out on his thin temples and 
on his smooth boyish lips. 

The next instant she was down on her 
knees at his side. He had gotten into an 
abominably awkward position so that his 
head hung over the pillows instead of resting 
upon them. 

How often Nona had assisted her old 
father in a like difficulty! 


120 


In the Trenches 


She may not have had the training of 
the other three American Red Cross girls, 
but she had practical experience and the 
nursing instinct. 

With skill and with gentleness and with- 
out a word she now slipped her bare white 
arm under the stranger’s shoulders and 
gradually drew him back into a comfortable 
position. Then she took her arm away 
again, but continued to kneel on the corner 
of his rug waiting to see if there were to be 
any signs of faintness. 

There were none. Without appearing 
surprised or even thanking her, the young 
Englishman continued his fantastic con- 
versation. 

“We have turned American girls into 
Princesses in Europe quite an extraordinary 
number of times. I have wondered some- 
times how they liked it, since I have been 
told they are all queens in their own land.” 

Then observing that his companion con- 
sidered his remarks degenerating into fool- 
ishness, he groped about until his hand 
touched the book he desired. 

“Forgive my nonsense,” he urged peni- 


A Meeting 


121 


tently. ^‘You can put it down to the fact 
that I have actually been reading Ander- 
sen’s Fairy Tales half the afternoon. I 
have grown so terribly bored with every- 
thing for the past six weeks while I have 
been trying to get this confounded leg well 
enough to go back and join my regiment.” 

He offered the little book to Nona, and 
almost instinctively, as the wind scattered 
the pages, she glanced down upon the front 
leaf to discover her companion’s name. 
There it was written in an unformed hand- 
writing. ‘‘Robert Hume, from Mother 
Susan.” 

“Robert Hume,” Nona repeated the 
name to herself mentally without lifting her 
eyes. It was a fine name, and yet it had 
a kind of middle class English sound like 
George Eliot, or Charles Dickens. Nona 
realized that what is known in English 
society as the middle class had produced 
most of England’s greatness. Neverthe- 
less it was surprising to find the son of a 
gardener possessed of so much intelligence. 

He even pretended not to have noticed 
that she had endeavored to discover his 


name. 


122 


In the Trenches 


She put the book on the ground and got 
up on her feet again. 

“I must go now,’’ she said gently, ‘‘but 
it is growing late. May I not call some 
one to take you indoors?” 

“Please,” he answered, “if you will go 
there to the small stone house and tell 
Mother Susan I am awake, she will have 
some one look after me. But I say it has 
been ripping meeting you in this unexpected 
way when I thought I was too used up even 
to want to look at a girl. Tomorrow 
perhaps ” 

“Tomorrow we are returning to London 
on the early morning train.” Nona suffered 
a relapse into her former cold manner. She 
was a democrat, of course, and came from 
a land which taught that all men were 
equal. But she was a southern girl and 
the south had been living a good many 
years on the thought of its old families 
after their wealth had been taken away. 
Therefore, there were limits as to what 
degree of friendliness, even of familiarity, 
one could endure from a gardener’s son. 

Nevertheless, the young fellow was a 


A Meeting 


123 


soldier and, one felt instinctively, a gallant 
one. 

“Good-by; I hope you may soon be quite 
well again,” Nona added, and then went 
across the grass to the gardener^s house. 

The young man was not accustomed to 
the poetic fancies that had been besetting 
him this last quarter of an hour; they must 
be due to weakness. But somehow the 
strange girl looked to him like a pale ray 
of afternoon sunshine as he watched her 
disappear. She did not come near his 
resting place again. 


CHAPTER IX 


*^But Yet a Woman^^ 

M ost of the next day the American 
Red Cross girls devoted to seeing 
London. They had visited The 
Tower and Westminster Abbey and the 
Houses of Parliament soon after their 
arrival. So, as the sun was shining with 
unusual vigor for London, they concluded 
to spend the greater part of their final time 
out of doors. 

London in late May or early June is a 
city transformed. During the winter she 
is gray and cold and formidable, so that 
the ordinary American traveler often finds 
himself antagonistic and depressed. Then 
the Englishman appears as cold and un- 
friendly as his skies. But let the sun shine 
and the flowers bloom in the parks and the 
spirit of the city and its people changes. 

Naturally, on account of the shadow of 
the war, the Red Cross girls had anticipated 

( 124 ) 


“But Yet a Woman” 


125 


an atmosphere of sorrow and gloom over 
London. But to their utter amazement 
on the surface of things there was no such 
effect. There were, of course, many fam- 
ilies in grief over the passing of one of their 
dearest, or in even more tragic anxiety over 
the fate of others either at the front or 
prisoners of war. But whatever the private 
suffering, there was slight sign of it. No 
one was wearing mourning, the theaters 
and restaurants seemed to be doing a 
good business and the streets and parks 
were everywhere crowded. 

Except that the flags of the Allied Nations 
waved from nearly every public building 
and large shop, and that the taxicabs carried 
placards urging men to enlist, there was 
little to suggest a nation at war. 

Yes, there was one other curious sight 
which Barbara from the top of an omnibus 
discovered. Over the roofs of the impor- 
tant government buildings and above many 
of the great private houses hung a kind of 
flat screen of heavy wire netting, closely 
woven. From a distance it formed a cob- 
web effect, as though gigantic spiders had 


126 


In the Trenches 


been spreading their great webs over Lon- 
don. 

‘‘I wonder what that means asked 
Barbara, pointing upward, and then knew 
the answer, although she listened politely 
while Mildred explained. 

‘‘Oh, the wire is to prevent bombs from 
dropping down on the house tops when 
London has her great Zeppelin raid. Father 
began telling me that London must expect 
them to occur as soon as the war broke 
out.” 

Nona, who had been looking pensive, 
now leaned over from the back seat where 
she was sitting with Eugenia. 

“I am not wishing any harm to London; 
I adore it. But if the Germans are going 
to send their marvelous army of the air to 
bombard the city, don’t you wish it would 
happen while we are here?” 

Barbara laughed, Mildred shook her head 
and Eugenia said seriously: 

“Nona, you don’t look in the least like 
a bloodthirsty person. I can’t understand 
you, child. You talk as if you had no 
sense of fear and I have not been able to 


“But Yet a Woman” 


127 


make up my mind whether it is because 
you know nothing of danger or whether 
you are different from most women. But 
remember that we are going to our work 
tomorrow, and I don’t think there will be 
many of the horrors of this war that we 
shall miss seeing. I am afraid I am a 
coward, for I dread a great part of them. 
But isn’t that the hospital we are looking 
for? At least, it will be a tremendous in- 
spiration to meet the woman who has done 
more for nursing among the British soldiers 
than any other woman in this war. Dr. 
Garrett Anderson established the first wo- 
man’s hospital at Claridge’s Hotel in Paris 
a: month after the war broke out, together 
with Dr. Flora Murray. And the women 
have done such wonderful surgical work 
that all the country is talking about them.” 

Barbara whistled softly. “So they 
brought this Dr. Anderson back to London 
and made her a major, the first woman ever 
given military rank in the British Army!” 
she exclaimed. “When one considers the 
Englishman believes ‘a woman’s place is 
the home,’ it is hard to tell how he is 


128 


In the Trenches 


going to reconcile what women are doing 
to help in this war, men’s work as well as 
their own. But I’ll bet you the English 
won’t give the women the vote when the 
war is over, just the same. They can go 
back home then, although a good many of 
the poor things won’t have any homes to 
go to.” 

Eugenia revealed an annoyed frown. 
She was doing her best to find good in 
Barbara Meade, her New England con- 
science assured her there must be good in 
everybody. But so far Barbara’s trying 
qualities were much more conspicuous. 

‘‘I do wish that you would not use slang, 
Barbara,” she urged almost plaintively. 
‘‘It may be all right in the west, but really 
it will give English people such an unfor- 
tunate impression of us.” 

Barbara flushed. Of course she must 
break herself of this habit; nevertheless, 
she would like to have mentioned that she 
had heard a good deal of slang since arriving 
in England and although unlike the Ameri- 
can kind, equally amusing. However, as 
it was now time to dismount from the top 


‘‘But Yet a Woman” 


129 


of their bus, this required all her energy 
and intelligence. 

The meeting with Dr. Louise Garrett 
Anderson was necessarily brief, the distin- 
guished woman happening to have a single 
free hour had consented to meet the new 
nurses and wish them God-speed. But the 
visit to the hospital was also important, 
because the American Red Cross girls 
were to have tea with the other nurses who 
were to accompany them across the Channel 
the next morning. 

The new hospital just back of the British 
trenches at Neuve Chapelle had sent a 
hurried call to London for more assistance 
and the four American girls and four 
British girls were to make the journey 
immediately. 

Crossing the hall to the dining room, 
Barbara just had time to whisper to 
Mildred: 

“I have a dreadful premonition that I 
am not going to be popular with English 
nurses. When you consider how ‘New 
England’ feels toward me, what can you 
expect of England?” and Barbara made 


130 


In the Trenches 


a wry face behind Eugenia^s back, wishing 
for the nine hundred and ninety-ninth time 
in her life that she only looked larger and 
older and more important. 

The meeting of the girls was not very 
successful. It may be that they were all 
shy and that they really wished to be 
friendly without knowing how to approach 
each other. But this certainly did not 
appear to be true. For after they were 
properly introduced by the superintendent 
of the hospital, the English girls nodded, 
said “how do you do?’’ and then sat down 
again and continued talking to one another, 
as if the Americans had vanished as soon 
as their names were spoken. 

It was embarrassing. Barbara was angry; 
nevertheless, her sense of humor made her 
feel an inclination to giggle. Mildred 
Thornton seemed distressed and awkward; 
one could tell from her expression that she 
was once more feeling her old lack of social 
graces. She was under the impression that 
it must be her duty to make things more 
comfortable without in the least knowing 
how. Eugenia was simply returning a 


“But Yet a Woman” 


131 


New England manner to the land whence 
it came, while Nona Davis was frankly 
puzzled by the situation. 

All her life she had been taught that one’s 
first duty was to make a stranger feel 
welcome in one’s own land. The well-bred 
southern man or woman will straightway 
cease to talk of his own affairs to become 
interested in a newcomer’s. They wish to 
make the stranger happy and at home 
and in the center of things. But this did 
not seem to be true of this particular party 
of English girls. Nona wondered why they 
should be so unlike the other English people 
they had been meeting. Perhaps they were 
rude because they belonged to a class of 
society that knew no better. You see, 
Nona’s feeling for ‘‘family” was very strong. 
She was to learn better in the days to follow, 
learn that it is the man or woman who 
counts, and not who his grandmother or 
grandfather chanced to be; but the lesson 
was still before her. 

She was now studying the four other 
girls, too interested to be annoyed by their 
manners, and yet conscious of the antagon- 
ism that they seemed to feel. 


132 


In the Trenches 


However, the four English girls were not 
in the least alike, which was one reason 
for their attitude. Two of them appeared 
in awe of the third, while the fourth girl 
silently watched the others. The most 
important girl was extremely tall, had fair 
hair, a large nose and a lovely English 
complexion. She was the Honorable Doro- 
thy Mathers. The second was the daughter 
of a farmer, healthy and in a way hand- 
some. If strength alone counted she would 
be the best of the nurses. Her name was 
Mary Brinton and she spoke with a broad 
Yorkshire dialect, but hardly said any- 
thing except ‘‘My Lady this, and my Lady 
that” and was evidently not accustomed 
to titled society. The third girl was from 
London, a doctor’s daughter and a friend 
of Lady Dorothy’s, Daisy Redmond, while 
the fourth, whose name was Alexina Mc- 
Intyre, had given no clue to her history. 

However, she it was who finally forced 
the group of eight girls to betray a mild 
human interest in one another. 

She had reddish hair, freckles on her nose, 
wore glasses, had a delightful mouth, large, 
with fine white teeth. 


“But Yet a Woman” 


133 


She happened to be gazing directly at 
Barbara when she first spoke, but her voice 
was uncommonly loud, so that it forced 
everybody’s attention. 

“Please, you little wee thing,” she said, 
“tell us whatever made you come over the 
ocean to help with our war nursing Did 
you think we hadn’t enough nurses of our 
own, that we needed babies like you?” 

Barbara stiffened. She had half an 
idea of declaring that she for one intended 
going back home at once. Then to her 
relief she discovered that her questioner 
had not intended being unkind. There 
was a sudden twinkle in her light-blue 
eyes, as if she had become aware of the 
discomfort in the atmosphere and wished 
to relieve it by a frivolous speech. 

“Pm Scotch,” she added with a charming 
burr in her accent. “I said that to wake 
you up.” 

Then Barbara smiled back again and 
afterwards sighed, “Oh, I am used to 
having that remark made to me.” She 
looked steadfastly across the space of 
carpet dividing the eight girls. “The sheep 


134 


In the Trenches 


from the goats/’ she thought to herself. 
Aloud she merely said: 

‘‘I hope with all my heart that in spite of 
my being so small you are going to find me, 
and indeed all of us, useful. If you don’t, 
you know, we can go back. But we used 
to have a saying in our hospital, out in 
Nebraska, that sometimes brains succeed 
best in nursing as in other things, rather 
than brawn.” 

Only the Scotch woman understood her 
meaning. However, the ice being broken, 
afterwards there was an attempt at conver- 
sation, until finally in desperation Eugenia 
gave the signal for farewells. 

‘‘We shall meet again in the morning,” 
she said at parting, but showing no en- 
thusiasm at the prospect. 

“I am sorry,” Mildred Thornton 
remarked, once the four girls were back 
again in their lodgings, “but I am afraid 
for some reason the girls we have just met 
feel a prejudice against our nursing in the 
same hospital with them. I wonder what 
they could have heard against us.^ Every- 
one else has been so grateful and kind. I 


“But Yet a Woman” 


135 


hope they woi/t make the work harder for 
us. All of us except Eugenia are inex- 
perienced.’’ 

Eugenia nodded her head in agreement. 
“I am afraid the girl they called Lady 
Dorothy did not seem to favor us. It is 
a pity, because she is related to a great many 
important people, I’m told. But never 
mind, even if she does dislike us, she can’t 
interfere with our doing good work.” 

Curled up on the bed, Barbara yawned. 
“Oh, don’t let us look for trouble. One of 
the things we have got to expect is that some 
of the English nurses won’t like our Ameri- 
can ways or our methods of nursing. We 
have just to remember that we came over 
here to preach the gospel of peace, not war, 
and not dislike anyone. Well, our real 
life work begins tomorrow. Then we will 
see what stuff we are made of. I am glad 
our hospital is partly supported by Amer- 
ican money and that Mrs. Payne of New 
York is sometimes in charge of things. I 
haven’t yet become an Anglomaniac; so 
far I only love the soldiers.” 

The next morning the trip to the coast 


136 


In the Trenches 


followed, and thence across the Channel the 
way was strangely uneventful. Except that 
the four American girls now wore their 
Red Cross costumes, they might have been 
taken for four girls on a spring shopping 
journey to Paris. The Channel boats were 
crossing and recrossing from England to 
France and back again just as if they had no 
enemies in the world. 

However, the men guiding the destinies 
of the little steamers were under no such 
impression. Every foot of the way was 
traveled with infinite caution. For at any 
moment disaster might overtake them from 
the sea or air. But there was no German 
bomb to destroy the shimmering gold of the 
atmosphere this May morning, nor dangers 
in the pathway through the sea. Moreover, 
from tall towers along both coasts farseeing 
eyes were watching and protecting the 
passage of the Channel boats. This morn- 
ing some of them were carrying passengers 
across, others khaki-clad soldiers to relieve 
their wounded comrades. 

One surprise, however, awaited the Amer- 
ican girls. Quite unexpectedly they dis- 


“But Yet a Woman” 


137 


covered that Mrs. Curtis and her son were 
also crossing the Channel to France on their 
boat. And Mrs. Curtis reported that Lady 
Dorian had been taken to The Tower in 
London where she was being held as a 
political spy. 


CHAPTER X 


Behind the Firing Lines 

I T was about seven o’clock in the morning 
ten days later. 

Over green fields the sun was shining 
and the birds were singing in the tops of 
the tall chestnut trees which were now cov- 
ered with fragrant blossoms. These trees 
stood close about an old mansion which was 
enclosed by a high stone wall with no 
opening save a tall iron gate connecting with 
the avenue that led in a straight line to the 
house. But although there was a small 
lodge beside it, the gate stood open. 

The old stone house itself was strangely 
built. It had three towers, one taller than 
the rest, commanding a sweeping view of the 
country near by. At one side of the building 
an old stone cloister led to a small chapel 
a few hundred yards away. And this 
morning two girls were walking quietly 
up and down this cloister in uniforms not 

( 138 ) 


Behind the Firing Lines 


139 


strikingly unlike those that used long ago to 
be worn by the young demoiselles of the 
ancient ‘‘Convent of the Sacred Heart” in 
northern France. But these two modern 
girls belonged to a newer and braver sister- 
hood, the order of the Red Cross. 

They were Barbara Meade and Nona 
Davis, but their faces suggested that years, 
not days, must have passed over them. 
Their cheeks were white, their expressions 
strained. From Barbara's eyes and mouth 
the suggestion of sudden, spontaneous laugh- 
ter had disappeared. She looked a little 
sick and a little frightened. 

Nona was different, although she sug- 
gested a piece of marble. The experiences 
of the past ten days had brought out the 
fighting qualities in this young southern 
girl. Her golden-brown eyes were steady, 
she carried her chin up and her shoulders 
straight. She looked the daughter of a 
soldier. 

Now she put her arm across the smaller 
girl’s shoulder. 

“Let us go for a walk,’^ she suggested. 
“No one in the hospital wants our services 


140 


In the Trenches 


for a while and breakfast won^t be served 
for another hour. It will do you good to 
get away from the thought of suffering. 
We need not go far; besides, the country 
near here is entirely peaceful.’^ 

Barbara said nothing in reply, but taking 
her consent for granted, the two girls left 
the cloister and went down the avenue to 
the open gate and so out into the country- 
side. 

They did not seem to feel like talking a 
great deal; the endless chatter that had 
kept them busy during the trip across had 
died away. But the morning was lovely 
and the countryside so peaceful that the 
thought of the scene of battle not far off 
seemed almost incredible. They were in 
the midst of a meadow and orchard coun- 
try of rolling level fields. Beyond them, 
however, was a line of hills and a forest. 
But there were no other large houses near, 
only some small cottages at the edges of the 
meadows. These belonged to the French 
peasants, and although the men were now 
in the trenches, still they appeared thrifty 
and well kept. For so far, though the 


Behind the Firing Lines 


141 


enemy watched so near, this part of the 
country had escaped the actual warfare. 
The hospital was only a bare five miles 
from the British line of soldiers, yet was 
comparatively safe. And for this reason the 
famous old French school had been emptied 
of its pupils and turned over to the Red 
Cross. 

As they left the big gate Nona glanced 
behind her. From the top of the tallest 
tower floated a white flag, the emblem of 
peace, and yet bearing upon it a cross of 
red, symbol of suffering. Then just for 
an instant the thought crossed her mind. 
Would this flag continue to protect them 
throughout the war.^ 

But as there was no possible answer to 
this question she turned once more to the 
idea of diverting her companion. 

Barbara did not seem to be noticing 
anything. She was downcast and wandered 
along with her eyes fixed upon the ground. 

do not think you ought to worry so 
or take your breakdown so seriously, Bar- 
bara,” Nona began. ‘‘Why, it might have 
happened to any one in the world and 


142 


In the Trenches 


only shows how keenly you feel things. 
Next time you will be better prepared.’^ 

But the other girl shook her head. 
had no right to come to Europe to help 
with the Red Cross nursing if I haven^t 
nerve enough not to flunk. Think of it, 
Nona, the very first time I was called upon 
to give assistance of real importance, to 
faint!’’ The girl’s voice expressed the 
limit of self-contempt. ‘‘And this when 
Eugenia and Lady Mathers were the two 
other nurses. I would almost rather have 
died than have had it happen. I believe 
Eugenia had to stop and drag me out of the 
surgeon’s way. But she has been very 
kind since, and after all my brave talk on 
the steamer has not yet mentioned my 
downfall. I suppose I ought to go home 
and carry out my threat.” 

The tears were sliding down Barbara’s 
cheeks, but in spite of this Nona smiled. 

“You are the last person in the world to 
play quitter,” she returned quietly. “Now 
look here, Barbara, you and I know that 
since we arrived at the hospital we have 
both been feeling that perhaps we were 


Behind the Firing Lines 


143 


not wanted and that all our efforts and 
dreams of helping are going to amount to 
little.’’ She stopped and for a moment 
laid both hands on her friend’s shoulders. 
“Well, let’s you and I show people dif- 
ferently. I haven’t had much experience 
and so I am perfectly willing to help in 
any way I can be useful until I learn more. 
You know you went to pieces the other 
day, not because you did not have courage 
to help, but because you have been seeing 
so many horrors all at once and you have 
not yet gotten used to them. That poor 
fellow ” 

But Barbara’s eyes were imploring her 
friend to silence. “Let’s don’t talk about 
him any more,” she begged. “I was used 
up, there had been so many others and then 
this soldier somehow reminded me of some 
one I knew.” 

Barbara drew a deep breath and squared 
her shoulders. It may be that the thought 
of the some one had given her new resolu- 
tion. “Of course, you know I mean to 
keep on trying,” she added finally. 

Then taking off her nurse’s cap and fling- 


144 


In the Trenches 


ing back her head, the girl called to Nona, 
‘‘Catch up with me if you like; I am going 
to run. It always makes me feel better 
when I’ve been having the blues.” And 
the next instant she had turned off from 
the road along which they had been walk- 
ing and was flying across one of the mead- 
ows as swiftly as a child chasing butter- 
flies. 

Just at first Nona attempted running 
after her. She too wanted to feel the blood 
racing in her veins and the wind fanning 
her cheeks. But her companion’s flight 
was too swift. Nona slowed down and 
followed more quietly. 

What an odd girl Barbara Meade was 
and what a queer combination of childish- 
ness and cleverness! Assuredly she had 
not succeeded in making herself popular at 
the hospital to which they had lately come. 
Probably Nona understood more of the 
situation than Barbara. Already for some 
reason there had been talk of asking the 
younger girl to go back to London, if not 
to her own home. Nona wondered if this 
were due to Barbara’s appearance or her 


Behind the Firing Lines 


145 


manner. Surely her single failure should 
not have counted so seriously against her, 
unless there were other reasons. Neverthe- 
less, she herself believed in her and meant 
to stand by until Barbara had her chance. 

Barbara had ceased running now, and as 
Nona approached her dropped down on 
her knees. She had come to the end of the 
meadow down the slope of a hill and every- 
where around the earth was covered with 
violets. 

In a few moments her hands were full of 
them. “We will take these back to the 
hospital, she said as cheerfully as though 
she never had a moment of depression. “ I 
have promised to read to two of the soldiers 
who are better. They say it amuses them, 
I have such a funny American voice.’^ 

The next minute she was up and off 
again, this time with her arm linked inside 
Nona’s. “There is such a dear little 
French house over there. Let’s go and see 
who lives in it now that we are so near.” 

Nona glanced at her watch. It was a 
man’s watch and had once belonged to 
her father* 


10 


146 


In the Trenches 


have a delightful scheme. It isn’t 
yet eight o’clock and neither you nor I 
have to go on duty until ten. Ever since we 
arrived I have wanted to see inside one 
of these little French huts. So if the people 
who live in this one are friendly let’s ask 
them to give us coffee and rolls. I can 
talk to them in French and explain where 
we come from, then later perhaps we can 
walk on a little further.” 

The girls were now within ten yards of 
the cottage. No one was outdoors, yet 
there were noises on the inside and through 
the one small stone chimney the smoke 
poured out into the air, bringing with it 
a delicious odor of coffee. Nevertheless, 
the two girls hesitated. They had been 
told that the French peasants were always 
courteous to strangers, and yet it might be 
difficult to explain their errand. 

But they were spared the trouble, for at 
this instant the heavy wooden door was 
pushed open and a woman stepped out into 
the yard. 

But after the first glance the two girls 
stared, not at the woman, but at each 
other. 


Behind the Firing Lines 


147 


‘‘It can’t be,” Barbara murmured weakly. 
“I am not seeing things straight.” 

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid you are,” 
Nona answered, and keeping tight hold of 
Barbara drew her forward. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Curtis,” she ex- 
claimed. “I was under the impression 
that you were in Paris. It seems more 
than strange for us to run across each other 
again and you so near the hospital where 
we have been located.” 

At Nona’s words Mrs. Curtis at once 
came forward and held out both hands. 
She was wearing a kimono and did not 
look attractive, but she smiled so kindly 
that at least Barbara relented. 

“I don’t wonder at your surprise,” she 
returned immediately. “Only I happen 
to have the advantage of already knowing 
what had become of you four girls. But 
my being near is not so strange as you may 
think. I told you my son wanted to see 
what is taking place inside the British 
trenches. We had to go to Paris for cer- 
tain papers we could not get in London. 
But the firing line at present is only a few 


148 


In the Trenches 


miles from here, as you know. So, as I 
wanted to be reasonably near and still in 
no danger, my son and I looked about to 
find some place where I could live. There 
is only an old woman here and a half-witted 
son. The father and sons are at the front, 
of course. But I donT mind being un- 
comfortable, and then knowing the hospital 
was so near was such a comfort both to my 
son and me.” 

Mrs. Curtis had not ceased talking an 
instant and seemed to expect no reply. 
“Won’t you come in and have coffee with 
me now?” she urged. “The house is clean 
as a pin and I’ve a letter from my son to 
Mildred Thornton I should be so much 
obliged if you would take to her. I was 
going to walk over with it myself some time 
today, but I did not know whether an 
outsider would be allowed to enter the 
hospital. One can’t guess what the restric- 
tions may be in these war times.” 

She led the way and both girls followed, 
Barbara because she very much wanted 
the coffee and to see inside the little French 
house. She was annoyed at the thought of 


Behind the Firing Lines 


149 


Brooks Curtis writing to Mildred so soon, 
but it was scarcely any business of hers. 
In any case, she did not see how she could 
prevent it, since Mrs. Curtis would un- 
doubtedly deliver her son’s letter unless 
one of them did. 

Nona, however, had no such feeling. 
She simply had a half-conscious prejudice 
against breaking bread with a woman 
whom she neither liked nor trusted. But 
then she had no real reason for her point 
of view and had promised herself to rise 
above it. 

V Of course, it might be only a coincidence, 
Mrs. Curtis’ evident intention to attach 
herself to them. But after all, what pos- 
sible reason could she have except the desire 
for a little friendly intimacy? Naturally 
she must be lonely with her son away on 
his newspaper work. 


CHAPTER XI 


Out of a Clear Sky 
HE girls remained longer than they 



expected in the little hut. It 


was extraordinarily interesting, with 
a thriftiness and tidiness that were charac- 
teristically French. Indeed, living seemed 
to have been reduced to the simplest 
conditions. 

One big room formed the center of the 
hut. It had a stone floor and a big fireplace 
where the food was cooked over a peat fire. 
A plain wooden table and some benches 
were the only furniture, except two tall and 
strangely handsome chairs, which must 
have been the property of some old French 
family. They had drifted into the cottage 
by mistake, probably as a gift to an old 
servant. 

On the walls of the room hung a gun of a 
pattern of the Franco-Prussian war, a cheap 
lithograph of President Poincaire, and one 


( 150 ) 


Out of a Clear Sky 


151 


of General Joffre and General French. 
So this little hut was also filled with the 
war spirit. But the old French mere 
explained that her husband and four sons 
were in the battle line, so few persons had 
a greater right to a display of patriotism. 

The two American girls found the old 
French woman one of the most picturesque 
figures they had ever imagined. She wore 
a bodice and short blue cotton skirt and a 
cap with pointed ends. Her shoes were 
wooden and her stockings homespun. Al- 
though only between fifty and sixty years 
old, her visitors were under the impression 
that Mere Marie must be at least seventy 
except for her vigor. For her shoulders 
were bent and her tanned cheeks wrinkled 
into a criss-cross of lines. Only her black 
eyes shone keenly above a high arched nose, 
and she moved with a sprightliness any 
young person might envy. 

Then too she was agreeably hospitable 
to her unexpected guests, though not com- 
municative. She did not appear to wish to 
talk about her own affairs. 

But although the old woman was so 


152 


In the Trenches 


interesting, her son Anton was a dreadful 
person of whom the two visitors felt a 
little afraid. He was almost uncanny, like 
a character you may have seen in a play, 
or read of in some fantastic book. His 
coarse black hair hung down to his shoulders 
and was chopped off at the end in an uneven 
fashion, his eyes were black and stared, but 
with a peculiar blank look in them, and his 
big mouth hung open showing huge yellow 
teeth. One of the unhappy things about 
the boy was that he looked so like the 
woman who was his mother and yet so 
horribly unlike her because there was no 
intelligence behind the mask of his face. 
He did not look brutish, however, only 
vacant and foolish, and sat in the corner 
mumbling to himself while Nona and 
Barbara and Mrs. Curtis had their coffee 
and rolls. 

But once the two girls were away from 
the little house, Barbara, glancing behind, 
saw the boy following them. First she 
shook her head at him, pointing toward 
his own home, then she brandished a stick. 
The lad only grinned and kept after them. 


Out of a Clear Sky 


153 


The girls had not yet started back to the 
hospital, as they had more than an hour 
before them and the morning was too 
beautiful to be wasted. 

“We have got to get rid of that boy 
somehow, Nona; he gives me the creeps,” 
Barbara suggested. “Suppose we slip out 
of this field, which may belong to them, and 
go down to the foot of that little hill. 
There is an orchard on the other side of the 
wall and we can stay there under the trees 
until we must go back to work. Hope no 
one will think it wrong, our having wandered 
off in this fashion! The truth is they will 
probably be too busy to miss us. At least, 
I am glad that Mildred and Eugenia are 
being so successful. They may save the 
day for the United States until our chance 
comes.” 

The two girls then sat down in the grass 
under an old French apple tree, which 
looked very like one of any other nation- 
ality, but was the more romantic for being 
French. This country of northern France 
ravaged by mad armies is an orchard and 
vineyard land and one of the fairest places 
on earth. 


154 


In the Trenches 


Looking up into the clear sky, Nona spoke 
first. 

‘‘It is as though the war were a horrible 
nightmare, isn’t it?” she began, leaning 
her chin on her hand and gazing out over 
the country. “But do you know, Bar- 
bara, dreadful as you may think it of me, 
I am not content to stay on here in the 
shelter of the hospital, hard and sad as the 
work of caring for the wounded is. I feel 
I must know what the battlefield is like, 
smell the smoke, see the trenches. Often 
I think I can hear the booming of the great 
guns, see the wounded alone and needing 
help before help can come. I am going over 
there some day, though I don’t know just 
how or when I can manage it.” 

The girl’s face was quiet and determined. 
She was not excited; it was as if she felt a 
more definite work calling her and wished 
to answer it. 

Then Nona quieted down, and without 
replying Barbara lay resting her head in the 
older girl’s lap. There was a growing 
sympathy between them, although so un* 
like. 


Out of a Clear Sky 


155 


Barbara's blue eyes were upturned 
toward the clear sky when suddenly her 
companion felt her body stiffen. For an 
instant she lay rigid, the next she pointed 
upward. 

‘‘Nona,” she exclaimed in a stifled voice, 
“it doesn’t seem possible, but—well, what 
is that in the sky over there? Perhaps we 
are not^so far from the fighting as you 
believe.” 

Nona followed the other girl’s gaze, but 
perhaps she was less far-sighted and her 
golden brown eyes had not the vision of her 
friend’s blue ones. 

“Why, dear, I only see two small black 
clouds.” Then she laughed. “We are 
talking like Sister Anne and Bluebeard’s 
wife. Remember Sister Anne’s speech: 
‘I can only behold a cloud of dust arising 
in the distance.’ ” And Nona made a screen 
of her hand, laughingly placing it over her 
eyes. 

But Barbara jumped to her feet. “Don’t 
be a goose, Nona. Look, I am in earnest. 
Those are not clouds, they are aeroplanes 
and I believe they are trying to destroy 
each other.” 


156 


In the Trenches 


But there was no need now for Barbara 
to argue; the situation was explaining 
itself. 

Even in this brief moment of time the 
two air-craft had come closer, the one 
plainly in pursuit of the other. But they 
made no direct flight. Now and then they 
both hung poised in the air, then they 
darted at each other, or one plunged toward 
the earth and the other soared higher. 

“One of them must be a German scout 
trying to locate the enemy’s position near 
here,” Barbara remarked. She herself a 
few weeks before would not have believed 
that she could have seen such a spectacle 
as the present one without being over- 
powered with alarm and excitement. But 
war brings strange changes in one’s per- 
sonality. Both girls were entranced, awed, 
but above all profoundly interested. They 
had not yet thought of fear for themselves 
nor for the men who must be guiding the 
destinies of the ill-omened birds now driv- 
ing nearer and nearer toward them. But 
for the moment one could not associate 
human beings with these winged creatures; 
they were too swift and terrible. 


Out of a Clear Sky 


157 


The German plane was evidently the 
larger and heavier of the two. 

It could escape only by disabling the 
other craft, but the smaller one would not 
remain long enough in one position to have 
the other’s guns turned upon it. 

Now and then there were reports of 
explosions in the air above them. Nona 
and Barbara expected to see one or the 
other of the two machines disabled, but 
somehow the shots missed their aim. 

Barbara had a sudden remembrance of 
having once seen a fish-hawk chased by a 
kingfisher. The resemblance was strange. 
Here was the great bird, powerful and evil, 
moving heavily through the air, while the 
smaller one darted at it, now forward, now 
backward, then to the side, causing it end- 
less annoyance, even terror. Yet the larger 
bird could not move swiftly enough to be 
avenged. 

Once the two planes circled almost out 
of sight and unconsciously the two watchers 
sighed, partly from relief, although there 
was a measure of disappointment. For 
whatever terror the spectacle held was over- 


158 


In the Trenches 


balanced with wonder. Moreover, by this 
time they were both becoming exhausted. 
Nona started to sit down again to rest her 
eyes for a moment. 

The next instant Barbara clutched her. 
Back into their near horizon the fighting 
air-craft reappeared, and now it was plain 
enough that the larger was swaying un- 
certainly. The smaller aeroplane made a 
final dash toward it, another report sounded, 
then a white flash appeared and afterwards 
a cloud of heavy yellow smoke. Away 
from the smoke, still lumbering uncertainly 
but keeping a course in the desired direc- 
tion, the big Taube machine was sailing 
out of sight. For a few moments longer 
the smaller aeroplane hung suspended, al- 
though it was impossible to see more than 
the outline of its great white wings through 
the thick vapor surrounding it. 

Then the wings began to waver and the 
aeroplane to descend toward the earth. 

Instinctively, with almost the same emo- 
tion that a child feels in reaching the scene 
of a falling balloon, Nona and Barbara 
ran forward. Unless its course changed 


Out of a Clear Sky 


159 


the aeroplane must fall in a field not more 
than two hundred yards away. 

But the atmosphere about them, which 
a short while before had been clear and 
fragrant, was now growing stifling, and 
blowing about them was a yellow cloud. 

With a suffocating sensation Nona put up 
her hand to her throat. What could be the 
trouble with her? She could see Barbara 
running on ahead, and the great ship 
fluttering downward, leaving much of the 
cloud of smoke dissolving behind it. Once 
she tried to call to her companion, but 
the feeling of choking was too painful. It 
would make no difference if she should sit 
down for a few moments. If there were 
any service to be done a little later when this 
curious sensation had passed she could go 
on. 

But whatever the poisonous air that had 
suddenly come out of the blue heavens the 
fumes grew thicker on the ground. No 
sooner had she sat down than Nona dropped 
backward, her mouth opening slightly and 
her face turning a queer dark color. 

Nevertheless Barbara kept on. From 


160 


In the Trenches 


the beginning she had been slightly in 
advance of Nona and running more quickly. 
She had been conscious of the sudden 
thickening of the atmosphere, but had put 
up her hand, covering her nose and mouth 
and so had gotten away from the fumes. 
Moreover, she had not become aware that 
Nona was not following. Naturally the 
sight ahead held her mind and eyes. 

The airship as it drew nearer the earth 
seemed to hold its wings outspread, quiet 
as a weary bird settling to rest. The ma- 
chinery did not appear to have been seri- 
ously wrecked by whatever bomb its enemy 
had finally used. Barbara could by this 
time plainly see a man still seated at his 
post, his hand holding his steering gear. 
Yet the man looked not like a man so much 
as a wooden image and seemed unaware of 
what he was doing. The instant his ma- 
chine touched the earth he fell forward 
face downward, rolled over a little when 
one of the giant wings of his air-craft 
partly covered him. 


CHAPTER XII 


First Aid 


soon as Barbara reached the scene 



of the wreck she turned to seek 


Nona’s advice and aid. But to her 
amazement there was no evidence of her 
companion. Stupidly she continued to 
stare. It was impossible to conceive what 
could have become of Nona, yet the last 
quarter of an hour had been so full of strange 
happenings that there was small wonder 
at Barbara’s bewilderment. 

A moment later, a few yards from where 
/ they had first begun to run, she saw Nona’s 
figure lying in a crumpled heap upon the 
ground. Yet was it imaginable that this 
could be Nona.^ Had she fainted or stum- 
bled ^ The recollection of the suffocating 
gas about them really did not occur to 
Barbara, as she had felt its effects so slightly. 

Yet here she stood torn between two 
duties. Should she return and find out 
11 ( 161 ) 


162 


In the Trenches 


what had happened to her friend or try first 
to release the man? 

Barbara suffered only a brief indecision. 
Though she may have failed in her first 
week^s work at the hospital, her training 
as a nurse now asserted itself. And one 
of the supreme requisites of the successful 
nurse is that she use her judgment without 
unnecessary delay. 

Straightway Barbara attempted dragging 
the unconscious man from his seat in the 
wrecked aeroplane, it being, of course, out 
of the question to move the machine itself. 
But the body felt as heavy and inert as if 
there were no life inside. Still she tugged, 
and though so miniature a person her 
muscles and nerves were for the time at 
least strong and steady. 

The man was tall, an Englishman Barbara 
guessed him to be, but happily he was thin. 
Many months devoted to war’s service 
leaves little flesh upon a soldier, and these 
modern soldiers of the air bear perhaps the 
most terrific strain of all. 

But once the man’s head was in the open 
air Barbara knelt beside him. So far as 


First Aid 


163 


she could discover he did not appear to be 
wounded; there was no blood upon him 
anywhere. Holding her smelling salts under 
his nose, he showed no sign of consciousness. 
Then she worked his arms back and forth, 
so as to stimulate the action of the heart, 
used every first aid method that her three 
years of study had taught her. This case 
was unlike any she had ever known. As 
she worked an idea came to Barbara. Once 
she recalled a man having been brought into 
the hospital overcome by the fumes of gas. 
Such a possibility was absurd with this case 
and yet the face had the same dark, frightful 
look. 

Nevertheless, Barbara Meade was not in 
the least hopeless, nor did she for an instant 
cease to work, though now and then she 
was forced to glance toward the spot where 
Nona remained so quiet. What could be 
the matter? Why did she not come to her 
aid? 

All this, of course, took place in a very 
few minutes. A little later when Barbara 
gave another frightened look across the 
fields, she discovered that Nona had gotten 


164 


In the Trenches 


up and was walking toward her. She 
seemed dizzy and uncertain, but there was 
evidently nothing serious the matter. 

Moreover, there was no time for inquiries, 
for just as Nona reached her, Barbara’s 
patient stirred, coughed and struggled to 
regain his breath. Then for the first time 
the nurse put her arm about her friend. 
The air would do more for the stupefied 
man than she could. 

Soon after he opened his eyes and in an 
incredibly short time pulled himself out 
from beneath his aeroplane. He then stared 
in a dazed half-blind fashion at the two 
girls standing near him in nurses’ uniforms, 
in the center of a ploughed field. 

But war admits of no surprises. Only 
the two American Red Cross girls had not 
yet grown accustomed to the possible 
strangeness of their adventures. More- 
over, they were frightened at the appear- 
ance of their first hero. He was not in the 
least what one would expect an aviator to 
be. This man was not young according 
to Nona’s or Barbara’s ideas. He must 
have been about thirty, his hair and eyes 


First Aid 


165 


were dark and the lines of his face stem 
and severe. His skin was now a queer 
mottled color, with ugly blue splotches. 

However, he began struggling to speak. 
But his tongue was so swollen that he 
choked and coughed, neither did he seem 
able to see clearly. 

Meanwhile Nona Davis, although con- 
siderably less affected, was also plainly not 
herself. She too coughed uncomfortably 
and seemed weak and stupid. She ex- 
pressed no surprise over what had just 
taken place and offered her friend neither 
advice nor assistance. But Barbara had 
already made up her mind. They must get 
back to the hospital and as soon as possi- 
ble. Yet her patient could not walk, Nona 
could not help, and Barbara did not wish 
to leave them while she went for assistance. 

Fortunately, however, in looking about 
she discovered that Anton, the boy whom 
they had been endeavoring to escape, had 
been attracted by the vision in the air. 
Or if he had not seen it, he was now plainly 
visible not far away, staring in a bold, half- 
terrified fashion at the scene, which was 
past his understanding. 


166 


In the Trenches 


Barbara summoned him imperatively. 

Between them they then managed to get 
the air man clear of his machine. As soon 
as he was on his feet, with Antonis and 
Barbara’s arms grasping his, he stumbled 
on for a few steps. Afterwards he found 
himself better able to walk 

‘‘Extraordinary thing,” he began, and 
Barbara immediately thought his words 
and manner so intensely English that she 
wanted to laugh. Would any American 
man under the same circumstances remain 
so coldly dignified and superior as this one 
appeared ? 

“I am not in the least hurt, you know, 
only confoundedly weak and suffocated,” 
he said finally. “New trick, that of our 
enemy’s; they have been using their as- 
phyxiating gas on our soldiers in the 
trenches, but this is the first time a gas 
bomb has been thrown from a Taube 
aeroplane. Lucky thing for me the gas 
was too heavy to stay long in the upper 
air.” 

This speech was made thickly and with 
a great deal of effort, but both Nona and 


First Aid 


167 


Barbara were able to understand. They 
knew, of course, of the use of the chlorine 
missiles, Germany's novel weapon of war, 
which had lately been thrown into the 
trenches of the Allies. The papers had 
been full of the mysterious effects the gas 
had upon the soldiers. How stupid not to 
have dreamed of this ! Of course, the 
situation was now explained, even Nona’s 
odd share in it. Evidently the poisonous 
gas which they had seen in a greenish 
yellow cloud encircling the aeroplane had 
fallen to earth and Nona had been wrapped 
in its fumes. But It had been too diluted 
with air to have done her serious harm, 
and after her fall a favoring wind must 
have blown it away. 

By the time the second field was reached 
Nona was herself again. Indeed, it was 
she who decided to hurry on to the hos- 
pital and send back aid. They were find- 
ing the way too long for the still stupefied 
man, who could only see dimly and was 
still suffering as if he had been recently 
paralyzed. 

The two nurses had been missed at the 


168 


In the Trenches 


hospital and Nona felt the atmosphere of 
disfavor as she entered the great stone 
house. 

Fortunately, however, she found their 
Scotch friend, Alexina McIntyre, waiting 
in the hall for the arrival of a fresh ambu- 
lance of the wounded. The ambulances 
brought the men from the battle front to 
this hospital only a few miles away. A few 
moments later help was dispatched to 
Barbara. 


CHAPTER XIII 


The Summons 

FEW days after Eugenia Peabody 



opened the door of one of the rooms 


on the top floor used for the nurses. 
It was a small room which fortunately the 
four American Red Cross girls were allowed 
to share without any of the other nurses. 
Simple as possible, it contained four cot 
beds, a single bureau, and a great old- 
fashioned wardrobe. Convents in France 
were built long before the days of closets. 

Eugenia, looking very exhausted, was like 
most tired persons, cross, when she dis- 
covered Nona and Barbara lying on op- 
posite beds peacefully talking. 

However, both girls got up instantly. 

‘^Do try and rest a while, Eugenia,” 
Barbara urged. ‘‘You seem dreadfully worn 
out. IsnT there anything I can do to 
help you?” 

Eugenia dropped down upon the nearest 


( 169 ) 


170 


In the Trenches 


v/ooden chair shaking her head. And in 
spite of her weariness the two other girls 
watched her admiringly. One had to see 
Eugenia in her nurse’s costume to realize 
what a handsome, almost noble looking 
girl she was. Her ordinary clothes were so 
shabby and unbecoming and so old style. 
But the stiff white cap outlined her broad 
forehead, her somber dark eyes. Even her 
too serious and sometimes too severe ex- 
pression seemed in a measure fitted to the 
responsibility of her work. 

‘^You are wanted downstairs in the 
convalescent ward, Nona,” she began. 
‘‘The Superintendent says she finds the 
things you are able to do very useful, even 
though you are not trained for the more 
responsible nursing. But before you go 
here is a letter that has come from London 
for you. Who can you know in London, 
child, to be writing you here?” 

Nona was moving toward the door, but 
she paused long enough to receive her 
letter and then to stand staring in the 
stupid fashion people have at the unfamiliar 
handwriting on the outside. 


The Summons 


171 


‘‘I haven’t the faintest idea/’ she an- 
swered Eugenia, but tearing apart the 
envelope she suddenly flushed. 

“The letter is from Lady Dorian, 
Eugenia. Remember we met her on the 
steamer where she was accused of all 
kinds of dreadful things. She has been 
imprisoned in London, but this letter must 
mean that she is free. Anyhow, I’ll tell 
you what she writes when I come back. 
I am on duty now and haven’t time to 
wait and read it.” This was entirely true. 
Nevertheless Nona had other reasons for 
wishing to read her letter alone. Lady 
Dorian had made a strange impression 
upon her for so short an acquaintance. She 
had scarcely confessed it even to herself, 
but she felt a girl’s peculiar hero worship 
for the older woman. Moreover, she was 
passionately convinced of her innocence 
and yet did not wish Barbara or Eugenia 
to know at once what must be told them 
afterwards. For Lady Dorian could only 
have written either to say she had been 
released or to ask aid. There had been no 
suggestion of their exchanging letters in 
tkeir bri«f acquaintance. 


172 


In the Trenches 


Once Nona was out of the room Barbara 
inquired : 

“What has become of Mildred? Isn’t 
this her afternoon to rest? Nona and I 
were expecting her in here.” 

The older girl did not answer; she had 
gotten up and in spite of her fatigue was 
walking about the small room. She stopped 
now and looked out of the tiny casement 
window. 

“Oh, Mildred,” she returned carelessly, 
“has gone to spend the afternoon with 
that Mrs. Curtis. They are to take a walk 
somewhere, I think. Mildred said she felt 
the need of fresh air. I believe Mildred 
is missing her family more than she likes to 
confess and this Mrs. Curtis is so kind, 
Mildred seems pleased to find her living so 
near us.” 

On her small cot bed Barbara had man- 
aged to get herself into an extraordinary 
position. She had on her kimono and sat 
hunched up with her knees in the air and 
her arms about them while her curly head 
bobbed up and down like a Chinese man- 
darin’s. 


The Summons 


173 


“Sony,” she commented briefly. “I 
told you on the ship I was afraid Mildred 
was becoming interested in Brooks Curtis. 
I don’t like Mrs. Curtis locating so near 
the hospital. Don’t see any reason for It 
except that she and her son do not want 
to lose sight of Mildred. And it would not 
surprise me if her son turned up in this 
neighborhood himself fairly often — oh, to 
see his mother, of course.” 

Barbara spoke petulantly, particularly 
when she discovered that Eugenia was 
paying scant attention to her remarks. 

“Oh, do come on and lie down a while, 
Eugenia,” she concluded. “You behave 
as if all the Allied forces would go to pieces 
if you stayed oif your job an hour, or at 
least as if all the soldiers in the hospital 
would die at once.” 

Still Eugenia made no reply. Although 
getting out of her working uniform, she too 
slipped into a comfortable negligee and 
letting down her heavy dark hair fol- 
lowed Barbara’s rather ungraciously offered 
advice. 

A few minutes later the younger girl 


174 


In the Trenches 


stood at the side of her bed with a cup of 
beef tea in her hands which she had just 
made over a tiny alcohol lamp. 

‘‘Drink this, please, and forgive my bad 
temper, Eugenia,’^ she murmured. “I 
presume if I confessed the truth even to 
myself, I am jealous of your success at the 
hospital. But honestly I don^t think I am 
being given a fair chance here. Ever 
since we arrived I have been shoved into the 
background and never called on for any 
really important work. Oh, I know I 
failed that one time, but that is no reason 
why I shouldn’t be all right the next.” 

While the older girl finished the bouillon 
Barbara sat down on the side of the bed. 
Then the moment the cup had been set 
down, to her surprise Eugenia took hold 
of her hand almost affectionately. 

“You are going to be given a chance, 
Barbara, at least one that will take a whole 
lot of courage. It is what I came up- 
stairs to tell you and Nona, and what I 
have been feeling so worried about. For 
really I don’t know whether you ought to 
agree. You are both so young and pretty.” 


The Summons 


175 


Eugenia hesitated and Barbara took hold 
of both her shoulders, giving her a tiny 
shake. 

‘‘What do you mean? I hate suspense 
worse than anything.^’ 

“Oh, simply that four girls have to be 
appointed for service in the two new motor 
ambulances that are to bring the wounded 
soldiers from the battle front to the hos- 
pital. The Superintendent has decided to 
ask you and Nona to take charge of one and 
Lady Mathers and Daisy Redmond the 
other. Of course, you can refuse if you 
like, Barbara, for the work may be danger- 
ous. It isnT that you will have to do very 
much for the soldiers except to see that 
they are properly bandaged and keep life 
in them till you can get them here. Of 
course there is a surgeon in each ambulance 
to tell you what to do. The danger is 
that you will have to go much nearer the 
fighting line and that you may see even 
more painful things than you have been 
seeing in the hospital. Really, child, I 
don’t advise you to attempt it.” 

For with the first realization of what 


176 


In the Trenches 


Eugenia meant Barbara had turned deathly 
pale and was now fighting a sensation of 
faintness. 

‘‘It isn’t that I am in the least afraid, 
Eugenia,” she faltered, as soon as she 
could trust her voice. Even then it was 
fairly shaky. “I don’t mind running the 
risk or the work or any of those things. 
You know what it is, Eugenia; there is no 
use trying to hide it. I simply haven’t 
the nerve I thought I had. It is seeing the 
wounded soldiers, so many of them. I lie 
awake at night and dream the most dread- 
ful dreams. I keep thinking I — ^but I had 
better not speak of It. I’ve simply got to 
say I can’t undertake the work. I hate it 
too on account of Nona; she is sure to try 
this ambulance work, for only the other day 
she told me that she longed to get closer 
to the scene of action. But what must I 
say, Eugenia, when I refuse? I’m afraid 
I can’t make any one understand that 
I’m not exactly a coward; I am used to 
sickness, but somehow this all seems so 
different.” 

Again Eugenia pressed the small hand 
she held In her large, capable one. 


The Summons 


177 


‘‘Tell the truth, my dear, and then go 
back home to the United States. From 
the moment I saw you I didn’t believe this 
Red Cross work would be suitable for 
you. I told you you were too young, and 
I thought you were too quick-tempered and 
emotional, though I did not speak of this. 
There is plenty of nursing you might be 
able to do at home — children, or old people.” 

Eugenia was growing sleepy; she had 
such a little while to rest that she was 
forgetting to be tactful. 

“Whether you wish to go back home or 
not, Barbara, Pm afraid you must if you 
won’t undertake this ambulance work. 
The Superintendent says she likes you 
very much and all that, but really does not 
feel it wise for you to stay on at the hos- 
pital. There is so much nursing required 
and so little room that the girls who cannot 
give the best kind of service are really in the 
way. I am sorry to hurt your feelings, 
but it is better for me to tell you this than 
any one else,” Eugenia concluded, again 
made sympathetic by the hurt in the 
younger girl’s face. Barbara looked so 


12 


178 


In the Trenches 


broken and humiliated, so intensely 
ashamed of her own failure. Nevertheless, 
Eugenia could not help seeing that even at 
this minute Barbara suggested a little girl 
who has been caught in wrongdoing at 
school. She simply did not seem able to 
appear like a grown-up person into whose 
hands life and death could be intrusted. 

For ten minutes afterwards Barbara 
made no reply. But she got up and put 
on her nurse’s uniform again, hiding her 
short brown curls beneath her stiff white 
cap and covering her blue frock with her 
white apron bearing its cross of red. 

Then for a moment when Eugenia seemed 
to be asleep Barbara dropped on her 
knees before the open window, gazing out 
in the direction where she knew the zone 
of danger and terror lay. Swiftly the girl 
uttered a prayer for strength and courage. 
The next moment she crossed over to 
Eugenia. 

am going to undertake the ambulance 
service. I may flunk that too, but at least 
I can try, and as the book says, ‘angels can 
do no more.’ And Pm distinctly not an 
angel.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


Colonel Dalton 

I N the meantime Nona was on duty in the 
convalescent ward. It was the work 
that she had been able to attend to with 
peculiar success ever since her arrival at 
the base hospital. This was a duty which 
many of the Red Cross nurses liked the 
least. For the convalescent soldiers were 
often like spoiled and nervous children. It 
was amazing how many drinks of water they 
required, how frequently their pillows had 
to be turned, how often letters from home 
had to be read and re-read until the nurses 
knew them by heart as well as the patients. 

It was a dark, cloudy afternoon when 
Nona entered the big room and before she 
had more than crossed the threshold she 
became aware of an atmosphere of gloom 
and ill-temper. 

Daisy Redmond, the English girl with 
whom they had crossed the Channel, had 

( 179 ) 


180 


In the Trenches 


been in attendance on the ward before 
Nona^s appearance and she seemed bored 
and annoyed. She was a very good nurse 
for an ill person, but too serious and reserved 
to cheer the convalescent, and on Nona’s 
entrance she gave a sigh of relief. 

The room, which was used for the soldiers 
who were on the high road to recovery from 
whatever disaster they had suffered, must 
have been the refectory or the old dining 
hall of the convent in the days before the 
Franco-Prussian war. It was an oblong 
room with a high ceiling crossed by great 
oak beams. Midway up the walls were 
of dark oak and the rest of stone. The 
floor was of stone and the windows high 
and crossed with small iron bars. While 
they let in the air and sunlight, it was im- 
possible to see much of the outside world 
unless one climbed a ladder or chair. -Evi- 
dently it had been thought best not to 
permit the little French convent maids to 
seek for distractions even among the flowers 
and trees. 

So the great room, in spite of its perfect 
cleanliness, had little suggestion of gayety or 


Colonel Dalton 


181 


beauty to recommend it at present. The 
floor, walls, beds, everything apparently 
had been scrubbed to the limit of perfection 
and were smelling of antiseptics. But there 
was not a flower in the room, not a picture, 
only two long rows of beds each containing 
a weary, impatient soldier, longing to be 
home with his own people or back at the 
front with the other Tommies. 

Almost anyone might have become dis- 
couraged with the prospect of two hours’ 
effort in such surroundings, but Nona never 
dreamed of flinching. 

As she went up toward the first bed, the 
young fellow with his right arm in a sling 
who was trying to write with his left hand, 
used a short word of three letters. He was 
a boy who worked in a butcher’s shop in 
London. When he saw Nona so near him, 
he blushed crimson and stammered an 
apology. 

Nona only laughed. ‘‘Oh, I say that 
myself sometimes, inside of me,” she whis- 
pered. “If it hurts your arm, do let me 
finish your letter. I’d like to add a line or 
two anyhow just to let Addie know you are 


182 


In the Trenches 


really getting well and not trying to en- 
courage her with false hopes. 

The young fellow smiled. It was clever 
of the little American girl to remember his 
girl’s name. He was glad enough to have 
her end his letter so that he might lie down 
again. Besides, he liked to have her sitting 
near him, she was so pretty — ^the prettiest 
nurse in the hospital in his opinion. Five 
minutes after when Nona had finished his 
letter and made him comfortable, he sighed 
to have her leave him. She was only 
going to another duffer a few beds away, 
who had been trying to read and dropped 
all his magazines on the floor. With one 
of his legs in a plaster cast, he had almost 
broken his neck trying to fish for them. 

So Nona wandered up and down the ward 
doing whatever was asked of her. She felt 
that she was being useful in spite of her 
lack of long experience in nursing. But 
it was amusing the queer things she was 
called upon to do. 

She was passing one of the cots where a 
boy lay who had received a wound in his 
head. He was not more than seventeen 


Colonel Dalton 


183 


or eighteen, and was a blue-eyed, fair-haired 
boy with a mouth like a young girl’s. You 
would never have dreamed of him as a 
fighter; indeed, he had left Eton to join 
the army and had never before known a 
real hardship in his life. But now a pair of 
wasted white hands clasped Nona’s skirt. 

Looking down she discovered that the 
bandage had slipped off his forehead and 
that his eyes were full of tears. 

Nona’s own eyes were dim as she bent 
toward him. 

‘^Are you suffering again she asked 
gently. ‘‘I am so sorry; I thought you 
were almost well.” 

“It isn’t that,” the boy whispered. “I 
wouldn’t mind the pain; it’s only — oh, I 
might as well say it, I want my mother. 
Funny to behave like a cry-baby. I wish 
I could sleep. I wonder if you could sing 
to me?” 

At first Nona shook her head. “Why 
I can’t sing, really,” she returned. “I have 
never had a music lesson in my life. I 
only know two or three songs that I used 
to sing to my father way down in South 


184 


In the Trenches 


Carolina. I expect you hardly know there 
is such a place.” 

Then suddenly the boy^s disappointed 
face made the girl hesitate. 

She glanced about them. In the bed 
next to the boy’s the man she and Barbara 
had rescued from the aeroplane disaster 
lay apparently too deeply absorbed in a 
bundle of newspapers to pay the least 
attention to them. 

By this time he had almost recovered and 
was enormously impatient to return to his 
regiment. It appeared that he was not a 
regular member of the aviation corps, but 
a colonel in command of one of the crack 
line regiments. However, he happened also 
to be a skilled aviator and on the morning 
of the accident, having a leave of absence 
from his command, had gone up to recon- 
noiter over the enemy’s lines. 

No, Colonel Dalton would pay no atten- 
tion to her, Nona felt convinced. He was 
very quiet and stern and a distinguished 
soldier, so that most of the nurses were 
afraid of him. 

“If you’ll try to sleep, why^ I’ll sing 


Colonel Dalton 


185 


softly just to you, so we need not disturb 
any one else,” Nona murmured, kneeling 
down by the side of the boy’s cot so that 
her face was not far from his. ‘‘I only 
know some old darkey songs.” 

Straightway the young English boy closed 
his eyes. Very quietly in a hushed voice 
Nona began to sing, believing no one else 
would listen. 

She chanced to be kneeling just under one 
of the tall windows and the afternoon sun 
shone down upon her white cap,her pale gold 
hair and delicate face. If she had known 
it she was not unlike a little nun, but for- 
tunately Nona had no thought of herself. 

She had only a small voice, but it was 
sweet and clear. 

“All this world am sad and dreary, 
Everywhere I roam. 

Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary, 

Far from the old folks at home.” 


Not one, but half a dozen soldiers lay 
quiet listening to Nona’s song. She was 
only aware that the boy for whom she was 
singing was breathing more evenly as she 


186 


In the Trenches 


sang on and that there was a happier 
curve to his lips. In a few moments more, 
if nothing occurred to disturb him, he must 
be asleep. 

So Nona did not know that Colonel 
Dalton, although holding his beloved Lon- 
don newspaper before his face, had been 
watching her and that her old-fashioned 
song had touched him. 

She was slipping away with her patient 
finally asleep when he motioned to her. 

‘‘It is a wonderful thing you are doing. 
Miss Davis,” he began in a low tone, so as 
not to disturb the sleeper, “you a young 
American girl to come over here to help 
care for our British boys. I want t(^shake 
hands with you if I may, you and that 
clever little friend of yours, who helped 
me out of my difficulty. I shall be away 
from the hospital in a few days and back at 
my post, as I’ve almost entirely recovered 
from the effects of the chlorine gas. But 
later on if I can ever be of service to you in 
any way, you are to count upon me. I 
trust that at some future day the English 
nation can show its appreciation for what 


Colonel Dalton 


187 


the United States has done for us in this 
tragic war.’’ 

Colonel Dalton spoke with so much 
feeling and dignity that Nona was both 
pleased and embarrassed. Of course, she 
seemed like a young girl to him, and yet 
after all Colonel Dalton could be only a 
little over thirty. It must be something 
in his character or in his history that gave 
his face the expression of sadness and 
sternness. Although his duties as an offi- 
cer in the war might already have created 
the look. 

‘‘You are very good,” she murmured 
confusedly. She was moving away when 
she noticed that Captain Dalton was staring 
fixedly, not at her, but at a brooch which she 
wore fastening her nurse’s apron to her 
dress. 

But probably he was in a reverie and not 
seeing anything at all! 

However, Nona did not have to remain 
long in doubt. Colonel Dalton spoke 
abruptly. 

“That’s an extraordinary pin you’ve got 
there, a collection of letters isn’t it.? I 


188 


In the Trenches 


wonder if by any chance it represents the 
motto of your own family?” 

Nona shook her head and carelessly 
unclasped the pin. ‘‘No,” she answered, 
“and I have scarcely been able to find out 
what the letters spell. I wonder if you 
could tell me.” 

The man scarcely glanced at the pin. 
“The letters are ‘Vinces,’ the Latin for 
‘Conquer.’ ” Then strangely enough Col- 
onel Dalton fiushed, a curious brick-red, 
which is a peculiarity of many Englishmen. 

“It’s a remarkable request I wish to make 
of you. Miss Davis. But would you mind 
parting with that little pin? It’s an odd 
fancy of mine, but then every soldier is 
superstitious and I should like very much 
to possess it. Possibly because of the 
meaning of the word, for the word ‘Con- 
quer’ never meant more in the history of 
the world than it does to an Englishman 
today.” 

But Nona had crimsoned uncomfortably 
and was clutching at her brooch in a stupid 
fashion. “I am awfully sorry,” she mur- 
mured, “it must seem ungracious of me. 


Colonel Dalton 


189 


but I value the pin very much. You see, 
it was given me by some one ” 

‘‘In this country, or in your own?’’ 
Colonel Dalton interrupted. 

Again Nona hesitated. Suddenly she 
had become conscious of the unread letter 
in her pocket which she had just received 
from Lady Dorian, and of the hour of 
their parting and her bestowal of the pin. 

She smiled. “It wasn’t given me in 
either your country or mine, but upon the 
sea.” 

Then she walked over to another patient 
who required a drink of water. 


CHAPTER XV 


Newspaper Letters 

C URIOUSLY Mildred Thornton was 
also spending an unexpected after- 
noon. She had been looking forward 
to her walk with Mrs. Curtis. Mildred 
too had been feeling the strain of the first 
weeks at the hospital more than she had 
confessed. She was one of the girls whom 
one speaks of as a natural nurse — quiet, 
sympathetic and efficient — and so had im- 
mediately been given especially trying cases. 
And Mildred was not accustomed to rough- 
ing it, since her home surroundings were 
luxurious and beautiful. So though she 
had made no complaint and showed no 
lack of courage, as Barbara had, she was 
tired and now and then, when she had time 
to think, homesick. 

Mrs. Curtis had been kind and whatever 
prejudice the other girls felt, she sincerely 
liked her. Moreover, Mildred also liked 

( 190 ) 


Newspaper Letters 


191 


her son, although this she had not confessed 
so freely to herself. But she was thinking 
of both of them as she walked through the 
fields to the home of Mere Marie. 

Perhaps Mrs. Curtis would have received 
news from Brooks. He was supposed to be 
not far away making a study of conditions 
in the British line of trenches not far from 
the Belgian border. He must know extraor- 
dinarily Interesting things. Mildred too 
shared the almost morbid curiosity which 
everybody of intelligence feels today. What 
is a modern battlefield really like, what is 
the daily life of the soldier, and what is 
this strange new world of the trenches, 
where men live and work underground as 
if all humanity had developed the tendencies 
of the mole.^ 

Mildred did not share Nona Davis’ 
desire to go and find out these things for 
herself, but being so near the scene of action 
as they were could not but stimulate one’s 
interest. And daily the motor ambulances 
brought the wounded from the nearby 
battlefield to their d6or. 

At Mere Marie’s Mildred first saw the 


192 


In the Trenches 


boy Anton sitting crouched before the 
hut. He leered at her foolishly and said 
something which she did not understand. 
So somewhat nervously Mildred knocked 
on the heavy wooden door. She too was 
afraid of Anton; one could scarcely help 
being, although all the people in the neigh- 
borhood insisted that he was perfectly 
harmless. As he used to bring vegetables 
from his mother’s garden and run errands 
for the staff at the hospital, he was a very 
well-known character. 

However, Mildred was just as glad when 
the door opened. 

But to her surprise, instead of seeing Mrs. 
Curtis, Brooks Curtis was there to greet 
her. 

He seemed a little nervous at first, but 
when Mildred showed pleasure at seeing 
him, became more cheerful. 

Mere Marie’s big room was empty and 
so the girl and young man sat down on 
wooden stools in front of the smouldering 
peat fire. 

It appeared that Brooks was discouraged. 
So far he had not been allowed to get inside 


Newspaper Letters 


193 


the British firing line and feared that his 
newspaper at home would be disappointed 
in him. 

Mildred did her best to reassure him. 
She was accustomed to trying to make 
people more comfortable. All her life her 
brother Dick had been confiding his annoy- 
ances to her, depending on her sympathy 
and advice. And Mildred had been missing 
Dick dreadfully since the first hour of her 
sailing. For though possibly he was as 
spoiled and selfish as Barbara Meade plainly 
thought him, he was a fairly satisfactory 
brother in his way. So she found it not 
unpleasant to behave in a sisterly fashion 
toward Brooks Curtis. 

Indeed, half an hour had passed before 
it occurred to Mildred that Mrs. Curtis 
had not appeared and that she had not even 
asked for her. 

However, just as she was making up her 
mind to inquire, Mrs. Curtis came into the 
room. 

She had on a dressing gown and looked 
pale and ill. 

am so sorry. I suppose Brooks has 


13 


194 


In the Trenches 


explained to you,” she began. ‘‘But I have 
a frightful headache and don’t feel equal 
to going out this afternoon. I don’t think 
you should miss your walk, Miss Thorn- 
ton, you are kept indoors so much at the 
hospital. So I wonder if you won’t take 
your walk with Brooks instead of me and 
then come back here and have coffee and 
cake.” 

Mildred felt a little uncomfortable. There 
was no doubt of Mrs. Curtis’ illness; 
seldom had she seen anybody more nervous 
and wretched from a headache. Yet 
Mildred did not know exactly what to do 
or say. Very much she desired to spend a 
part of her one free afternoon in the air and 
sunshine away from the pain and sorrow of 
the hospital. She was not averse to spend- 
ing it with Brooks Curtis instead of his 
mother. But she was not sure whether 
it would be right for her to take a walk 
alone with a man whom she really knew 
nothing about. The days on shipboard 
had made them behave like fairly intimate 
friends. However, she also felt it would 
appear stupid and unfriendly of her to 


Newspaper Letters 


195 


refuse. Even if Eugenia and the other 
girls disapproved later, the whole question 
of Mrs. Curtis and her son was not their 
affair. Moreover, Mildred did not intend 
confiding in them. 

So she blushed a little and then answered 
awkwardly. 

‘‘Oh, of course I don’t want to miss my 
walk and I don’t mind if Mr. Curtis wishes 
to come with me. Only he is not to trouble, 
because I am not afraid to go alone.” 

Then Mildred felt like stamping her foot. 
Ever since getting away from the conven- 
tional society atmosphere of her own home 
she had been more at ease and less self- 
conscious. Had not her friendship witk 
Mrs. Curtis and her son proved that she 
was not always stiff and silent. Assuredly 
Brooks had preferred her to any of the 
other girls, even though they were far 
prettier and more attractive.^ Yet here 
she was, through her old shyness, spoiling 
everything. 

Mildred smiled unexpectedly, which 
always relieved the plainness of her face. 

“I was not telling the truth then,” she 


196 


In the Trenches 


added, “I should enjoy my walk ever so 
much more if Mr. Curtis will go with me.’’ 

An hour later and the girl and her 
companion had climbed the nearest hill 
in that part of the country. It was not 
quite a mile from the hospital and was not 
a very high hill, yet Mildred was surprised 
at the splendid view. 

Brooks Curtis had brought with him the 
fine telescope which he had used on the 
steamer in spite of the difficulty with his 
eyes. 

He pointed out to Mildred the direction 
in which General Sir John French’s army 
lay entrenched. One could not see the 
exact place because the line of trenches 
covered twelve miles of battle front and 
many other miles of underground passages. 
Then he told her that the right wing of the 
British army which was in position nearest 
their hospital was under the command of 
Lieutenant-General Porter and that Colonel 
Dalton, who was ill, was one of his most 
talented officers. 

Secretly Mildred Thornton was amazed 
and fascinated. She had been convinced 


Newspaper Letters 


197 


early in their acquaintance that Brooks 
Curtis was an unusually clever fellow. He 
was not handsome and there was something 
a little odd about him. Mildred was sym- 
pathetic with people who were not good 
looking and not at ease. Now she was 
really surprised at his information about 
the British army. For after all he had 
only been in France for a short time. 

‘‘But I thought you said you had not 
been able to go through the trenches,’^ 
Mildred expostulated, “yet already you 
know a great deal.” 

The young man shook his head mourn- 
fully. “I know nothing of importance 
he returned with such emphasis that 
Mildred was the more impressed. Above 
all things she admired determination of 
character. 

Then for a few moments neither the girl 
nor the young man spoke. 

Mildred was trying to locate in a vague 
fashion certain positions of the army which 
her companion had just described. Two 
miles farther to the north Mildred could 
see a low range of hills which seemed deeply 


198 


In the Trenches 


curtained by trees. In the midst of those 
trees Brooks insisted the British army had 
stationed long-range guns. They were 
guns of a new character and no one yet 
knew what their power of destruction might 
be. Behind the artillery there were tele- 
phone connections with the trenches miles 
away. 

Really Mildred Thornton was too inter- 
ested in the information imparted by her 
new friend to pay any special attention to 
what he might be doing. 

However, he had taken off his glasses, 
gotten out a note book and was now writing 
as rapidly as possible. 

By and by he got out an envelope and 
put the papers inside it, together with some 
others that were there previously. 

At this minute Mildred looked around. 

‘‘Oh, dear, it is late; we must be going 
back as quickly as possible!” she exclaimed, 
and then got up without allowing her 
companion opportunity to assist her. 

Nevertheless, the young man did not 
follow her for a moment. 

“I wish you would stay just an instant 
longer,” he asked instead. 


Newspaper Letters 


199 


And when Mildred turned he still held 
the envelope in his hand. 

“I want to ask you a favor, Miss Thorn- 
ton, and I don’t know just how to explain. 
I wonder if you will be good enough to 
mail this letter of mine from the hospital 
along with your own home mail ? You see, 
it is like this with the newspaper fellows, 
all our mail is so censored that the news 
we want to send to the United States is 
usually cut out before it arrives. There 
is no good my writing exactly what the 
other fellows send. So I thought if you 
would mail this for me like private mail 
along with the nurses’ letters, why I’d 
stand a chance. I know it is asking a good 
deal of a favor of you. But somehow I have 
felt you were my friend ever since our 
first meeting and my mother feels the same 
way. You see, we are awfully poor. Of 
course you can’t know what that means, 
but for my mother’s sake and my own Fm 
terribly anxious to make good with my war 
stories. I feel if I can make a reputation 
now my future will be assured.” 

Whether Brooks Curtis was a student 


200 


In the Trenches 


of character or not, one does not yet know. 
But certainly he had gauged Mildred. 

If there was anything that did appeal to 
her it was the thought of another’s struggle 
and the possibility that she might help. 
Just because she had always spent such a 
rich and sheltered life her desire to aid 
others was the stronger. So Mildred 
promised to mail the letter to an address in 
Brooklyn, placing the address on the enve- 
lope with her own handwriting so as to 
avoid questioning. 

Neither did she feel that she was doing 
anything unusual. The deception was too 
small to be considered. Besides, what 
difference could it make to the hospital 
authorities if one more letter were added 
to their mail bag.^ 

“I shall never cease to appreciate your 
kindness,” Brooks Curtis said at parting, 
‘‘and you won’t mind, will you, if now and 
then Anton brings you other letters to the 
hospital? I may not be able to get away 
to bring them myself.” 

Mildred nodded without thinking of this 
side of the question seriously. The truth 


Newspaper Letters 


201 


of the matter was that she was in too much 
of a hurry now to return to her work. 
Although she had not gone back to Mere 
Marie’s for coffee, they had been out longer 
than she realized. 


CHAPTER XVI 


The Ambulance Corps 
FEW days later It was definitely 



arranged that Nona Davis, Barbara 


Meade, Lady Dorothy Mathers and 
Daisy Redmond should be enrolled in the 
Red Cross ambulance work. 

To understand the service of the Red 
Cross ambulances one must be familiar 
with the unusual conditions which existed 
in this most terrible war of all human 
history. 

Most of us know, of course, that the 
greater part of the fighting was done at 
night. By day scouts in aeroplanes en- 
deavored to locate the enemy’s positions, 
while sentries kept guard along the miles 
of trenches to fire at any man who dared 
venture within what was called the zone of 
death. So all the work of war except the 
actual fighting must take place behind each 
army’s line of entrenchments. 


( 202 ) 


The Ambulance Corps 


203 


This means that in the early morning, 
when the night’s cruelties were past, the 
wounded soldiers were carried from the 
field of battle or from the trenches to some 
place of safety in the rear. Here nurses and 
doctors could give them first aid. And this 
required tremendous personal bravery. 
The stricken soldiers must be borne in the 
arms of their companions to the nearest 
Red Cross, or else lifted into the ambu- 
lances or smaller motor cars. These trav- 
eled with all possible speed across the tragic 
fields of the dead, as soon as a lull in the 
firing made attempt at rescue possible. 

There, behind a barricade of trees, or of 
sand bags, or of a stone wall, or whatever 
defense human ingenuity could Invent, stood 
white tents, or else a stable or house. These 
waved flags of white bearing a crimson 
cross, demanding safety for the suflfering. 

These temporary hospitals had to be 
established at any place where the need 
was greatest. But the soldiers could not 
remain in these quarters. As soon as pos- 
sible they were taken to the nearest prop- 
erly equipped hospital, sometimes fairly 


204 


In the Trenches 


near the fighting line. At other times they 
were loaded into trains and borne many 
weary miles away. 

But in nearly every case they were 
carried to the cars or to the nearer hospitals 
in the Red Cross ambulances. They were 
the only chariots of peace the war had so 
far acquired. 

However, it is good to know that together 
with all the modern inventions for the 
destruction of men, science had done all 
that was possible to make the new Red 
Cross ambulances havens of comfort and 
of cure. In Paris, the great Madame Curie, 
the discoverer of radium, had been giving 
her time and talent to the equipment of 
ambulances for the soldiers. From this 
country much of the money that had been 
poured so generously into Europe had been 
devoted to their purchase. 

So the four Red Cross girls from the 
Hospital of the Sacred Heart (so named in 
honor of the old convent school) were 
naturally impressed with the importance 
of their new duties. 

The plan was that they were to travel 


The Ambulance Corps 


205 


back and forth from the field hospitals 
with the wounded soldiers who required 
the most immediate attention. A doctor 
would be in charge of each ambulance and 
of necessity the chauffeur. Under the 
circumstances it was thought better to 
have two nurses instead of one. The four 
additional nurses were required because 
two new ambulances had just been added to 
the British service, as a gift from New York 
City, through the efforts of Mrs. Henry 
Payne, who was especially interested in the 
Sacred Heart Hospital. 

The morning that the girls left for the 
nearer neighborhood of the battlefield was 
an exquisite June day. The sun is one 
of France^s many lovers, turning her into 
‘‘La Belle Dame,’^ the name by which she 
is known to her own children and to some 
of her admirers from other lands. , 

All the nurses who were off duty at the 
hospital poured out into the garden to say 
farewell and God-speed to their compan- 
ions. 

Except for the prejudice which Lady 
Dorothy Mathers and her friends continued 


206 


In the Trenches 


to feel against the four Americans, every- 
body else had been most kind. The Eng- 
lish manner is colder than the American 
or the French, but once having learned to 
understand and like you, they are the most 
loyal people in the world. 

Three of the American Red Cross girls 
were beginning to realize this. But Bar- 
bara Meade still felt herself misunderstood 
and disliked. Under normal conditions 
Barbara was not the type of girl given to 
posing as ‘‘ misunderstood and being sorry 
for herself in consequence. 

The difficulty was that ever since her 
arrival the horror of the war and the 
suffering about her had made her unlike 
herself. She felt terribly western, terribly 
‘^gauche,” which is the French word mean- 
ing left-handed and all that it implies. 
Then Barbara had a fashion of saying 
exactly what she thought without reflect- 
ing on the time or place. This had gotten 
her into trouble not once but a dozen times. 
She did not mean to criticize, only she had 
the unfortunate habit of thinking out loud. 
But most of all, Barbara lamented her own 


The Ambulance Corps 


207 


failure as a nurse and all that It must argue 
to her companions. For so far they had 
the right to consider her a shirker and a 
coward, or at least as one of the tiresome, 
foolish women who rush off to care for 
the wounded in a war because of an emo- 
tion and without the sense or the training 
to be anything but hopelessly in the way. 

It was for this reason that Barbara had 
finally decided to accept the new oppor- 
tunity offered her. If she should make a 
failure of it, she agreed with Eugenia’s 
frank statement of her case: she must 
simply go back home so as not to be a 
nuisance. 

Curious, but one of the reasons why 
Barbara loathed the thought of her own 
surrender was the idea that if she turned 
back, she would have to face Dick Thorn- 
ton in New York City. This thought had 
been in her mind all along. For one thing 
she kept recalling how bravely she had 
talked to Dick of her own intentions, and 
of how she had reproached him for his idle 
existence. 

The worst of Barbara’s conviction was 


208 


In the Trenches 


that should she return a failure, no one would 
be kinder or more thoughtful of her feelings 
than Dick. Of course, she had not known 
him very long, but it had been long enough 
for her to appreciate that Dick Thornton 
was utterly without the ugly spirit of “I 
told you so.” But perhaps his sympathy 
and quiet acceptance of her weakness would 
be harder to endure than blame. 

So it was a very pale and silent Barbara 
who walked out of the old stone convent 
that morning with her arm linked inside 
Eugenia’s. She was beginning to appreciate 
Eugenia more and to realize that her first 
impression of Miss Barbara Meade’s abili- 
ties, or lack of them, was not so ridiculously 
unfair as she had thought. 

Certainly no one could be kinder than 
Eugenia had been in the few days between 
Barbara’s acceptance of her new work and 
the time for actually beginning it. 

She kept looking at her now, feeling 
almost as one would at the sight of a 
frightened child. Poor Barbara was pre- 
tending to be so brave. Though she had 
not spoken again of her own qualms, it 


The Ambulance Corps 


209 


was plain enough to the older girl that 
Barbara was almost ill with apprehension. 
Not that Eugenia believed she was afraid 
of the actual dangers that might befall her 
from going so much closer to the battle 
front. She suffered from the nervous dread 
of breaking down at the sight of the 
wounded and so again failing to make good. 

The superintendent of the nurses, a 
splendid middle-aged woman from one of 
the big London hospitals, was also aware 
of Barbara Meade’s state of mind. For 
several days with all the other work she 
had to do she had been quietly watching 
her. Here at the last moment she had 
an impulse to tell Barbara to give up. 
After all, she was such a child and the 
strain might be too much for her. Then 
she concluded it would be best to let the 
girl find out for herself. 

The contrast was odd between the two 
American girls who were answering this 
new call of war. Nona Davis did not 
seem nervous or alarmed. Not that she 
was unconscious either of the dangers or 
the difficulties. She seemed uplifted by 


14 


210 


In the Trenches 


some spiritual emotion. She was like a 
young Joan of Arc, only she went forth 
to carry not a sword but a nurse’s ^‘Red 
Badge of Courage.” 

A little after daylight the four girls and 
two of the hospital surgeons left for the 
front. The two new ambulances had been 
taken directly to the field hospital where 
they were to meet them. 

The night before news had come that 
there had been fresh fighting and help was 
needed at once. So one of the hospital 
automobiles had been requisitioned to trans- 
port the little party. 

‘‘We will be back by tonight with the 
wounded,” Nona Davis said calmly as she 
kissed Mildred Thornton good-by. “You 
are not to worry about us. I don’t think 
we are going into any danger.” 

Barbara made no attempt at farewells; 
she simply sat quietly on the back seat 
of the car with her hand clasped inside 
Nona’s, and her eyes full of tears. Had 
she tried to talk she might have broken 
down and she was painfully conscious that 
the two English girls. Lady Dorothy Mathers 


The Ambulance Corps 


211 


and Daisy Redmond, were staring at her 
in amazement. It was hard to appreciate 
why if she was afraid of the war nursing, 
she would not give it up. 

The first part of the drive was through 
country like that surrounding the Sacred 
Heart Hospital. General Sir John French 
had given orders that in every place where 
it was possible the agriculture of France 
should be respected. The crops must not 
be trampled down and destroyed, for the 
rich and poor of France alike must live and 
also feed their army. 

So all along the first part of their route 
the girls could see women and children at 
work. They wore the long, dark-blue 
blouses of the French working classes, at 
once so much cleaner and more picturesque 
than the old, half-worn cloth clothes of 
our own working people. 

It was all so serene and sweet that for a 
little while Nona and Barbara almost 
forgot their errand. 

Then the face of the countryside changed. 
There were no peasants^ huts that were not 
half in ruins, great houses occupied but a 


212 


In the Trenches 


few months before by the wealthy land- 
owners of northern France were now as 
fallen into disuse as if they had been ancient 
fortresses. Here and there, where the 
artillery had swept them, forests of trees 
had fallen like dead soldiers, and over 
certain of the fields there was a blight as 
if they had been devastated with fire. 

Then the car brought the little party to 
the spot where in the morning sunshine 
they caught the gleam of the Red Cross 
flag. 

The place was a deserted stable sheltered 
by a rise of ground. To the front lay the 
British trenches, covered with thatch and 
the boughs of many trees, to the right and 
some distance off, hidden behind breast- 
works, were enormous long distance guns. 

Also one of the surgeons explained to 
Lady Dorothy and Nona, who seemed most 
interested, that on the hill beyond the 
hospital where nothing could be seen for the 
denseness of the shrubbery, several of the 
officers had their headquarters and from 
there dictated the operations in the trenches 
and in the fields. 


The Ambulance Corps 


213 


The night before must have been a busy 
one, for as the car stopped behind the 
improvised hospital, soldiers in khaki could 
be seen stag:gering back and forth with the 
wounded, surgeons with their work showing 
all too realistically upon them. Then there 
were the sounds as well as the sights of 
suffering. 

As Barbara Meade crawled out of the 
automobile she felt her knees give way 
under her and a darkness swallow her up. 
Then she realized that she must be fainting 
again. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Dick 

^^^I^TEADY,” a voice said in Barbara 
Meade’s ear, as a strong arm 
slipped across her shoulders, brac- 
ing her upright. 

And so surprised was she by the voice 
and its intonation that she felt herself 
brought back to consciousness. 

“Dick Thornton,” she began weakly, 
and then decided that in truth she must be 
taking leave of her senses, to have an 
image of Dick obtrude upon her at such a 
moment and in such a place. 

Naturally curiosity forced her to turn 
around and so for the instant she forgot 
herself and her surroundings. 

She saw a young man in a khaki uniform 
of a kind of olive green with a close-fitting 
cap and visor. But beneath the cap was a 
face which was like and yet unlike the face 
of the friend she remembered. This fellow’s 

( 214 ) 


Dick 


215 


expression was grave, almost sad, the dark- 
brown eyes were no longer indifferent and 
mocking, the upright figure no longer 
inactive. Indeed, there was action and 
courage and vigor in every line of the figure 
and face. 

Barbara stepped back a few paces. 

‘^Dick Thornton,” she demanded, ‘‘have 
I lost my mind or what has happened? 
Aren’t you several thousand miles away in 
New York City, or Newport, where ever 
the place was you intended spending the 
summer? I simply can’t believe my own 
eyes.” 

Dick slipped his arm inside Barbara 
Meade’s. For the time no one was noticing 
them; the scene about them was absorbing 
every attention. 

“Just a moment, please, Barbara, I want 
to explain the situation to you,” Dick 
asked, and drew the girl away behind the 
shelter of one of the hospital wagons. 

“Sit down for a moment,” he urged. 
“Dear me, Barbara, what have they been 
doing to you in the few weeks since we said 
good-by in good old New York? You are 
as white and tiny as a little tired ghost.” 


216 


In the Trenches 


But Barbara shcx)k her head persua- 
sively. ^‘Please don’t talk about me,” 
she pleaded. ‘‘I must know what has oc- 
curred. What could have induced you to 
come over here where this terrible war is 
taking place, and what are you doing now 
you are here.^ You aren’t a soldier, are 
you?” And there was little in Barbara’s 
expression to suggest that she wished her 
friend to answer ‘‘Yes.” 

Dick had also taken a seat on the ground 
alongside Barbara and now quite simply 
he reached over and took her hand inside 
his in a friendly strong grasp. 

“I don’t know which question to answer 
first, but I’ll try and not make a long story.' 
I want you to know and then I want you 
to tell Mill. I came over to this part of 
the country so as to be near you. But I 
haven’t wanted to see either of you until 
I found out whether I was going to amount 
to anything. If I wasn’t of use I was 
going on back home without making a 
fuss. You see, Barbara, I suppose your 
visit to us set me thinking. You had a 
kind way of suggesting, perhaps without 


Dick 


217 


meaning it, that I was a pretty idle, good- 
for-nothing fellow, not worth my salt, let 
alone the amount of sugar my father was 
bestowing on me. Well, I pretended not 
to mind. Certainly I didn’t want a little 
thing like you to find out you had made an 
impression on me. Still, things you said 
rankled. Then you and old Mill went 
away. I couldn’t get either of you out 
of my mind. It seemed pretty rotten, me 
staying at home dancing the fox trot and 
you and Mill over here up against the Lord 
knows what. So I — I just cleared out and 
came along too. But there, I didn’t mean 
to talk so much. Whatever is the matter 
with you, Barbara? You look like you 
were going to keel over again, just as you 
did when you tumbled out of that car.” 

The girl shook her head. ‘‘You can’t 
mean, Dick, that you have come over to 
enlist in this war because of what I said in 
New York? Oh, dear me, I thought I was 
unhappy enough. Now if anything hap- 
pens to you your mother will have every 
right not to forgive me; besides, I shall 
never forgive myself.” 


218 


In the Trenches 


Barbara said the last few words under 
her breath. Although hearing them per- 
fectly, Dick Thornton only smiled. 

‘‘Oh, I wouldn’t take matters as seri- 
ously as that,” he returned. “I didn’t 
mean to make you responsible for my 
proceedings. I only meant you waked 
me up and then, please heaven, I did the 
rest myself. See here, Barbara, after all 
I am a man, or at least made in the image of 
one. And I want to tell you frankly that 
I’ve gone into this terrible war game for 
two reasons. I don’t suppose many people 
do things in this world from unmixed 
motives. I want to help the Allies; I 
think they are right and so they have got 
to win. Then I thought I’d like to prove 
that I had some of the real stuff in me and 
wasn’t just the little son of a big man. 
Then, well, here are you and Mill. I’m 
not a whole lot of use, but I like being 
around if anything should go wrong. We 
didn’t know each other very long, Bar- 
bara, but I’m frank to confess I like you. 
You seem to me the bravest, most go-ahead 
girl I ever met, and I am proud to know 


Dick 


219 


you. I believe we were meant to be friends. 
Just see how we have been calling each 
other by our first names as if we had been 
doing it always. Funny how we left our 
titles behind us in New York.” 

Dick was talking on at random, trying 
to persuade his companion to a little more 
cheerfulness. Surely they were meeting 
again in gruesome surroundings. Yet one 
must not meet even life’s worst tragedies 
without the courage of occasional laughter. 

“But I’m not brave, or any of the things 
you are kind enough to think me; I’m not 
even deserving of your friendship, let alone 
your praise,” the girl answered meekly. 
Her old sparkle and fire appeared gone. 
Dick Thornton was first amazed and then 
angry. What had they been doing to his 
little friend to make her so changed in a 
few weeks He said nothing, however, 
only waited for her to go on. 

But Barbara did not continue at once. 
For of a sudden there was an unexpected 
noise, a savage roaring and bellowing and 
then a muffled explosion. 

The hand inside the American boy’s 
turned suddenly cold. 


220 


In the Trenches 


“What was that?’’ she whispered. 

But Dick shook his head indifferently. 
“Oh, just a few big guns letting themselves 
go. They do that now and then unex- 
pectedly. There is no real fighting. I 
have been here a week. Sometimes at 
night there is a steady crack, crack of rifles 
down miles and miles of the trenches from 
both sides and as far off as you can hear. 
Then every once in a while like thunder 
of angry heathen gods the cannons roar. 
It’s a pretty mad, bad world, Barbara.” 

By this time the noise had died away and 
Barbara took her hand from Dick’s. 

“We must not stay here much longer,” 
she suggested, “yet I must tell you some- 
thing. You remember all the things I said 
to you in New York about being useful 
and a girl having as much courage as a 
boy and the right to live her own life and 
all that?” 

Dick nodded encouragingly. Neverthe- 
less and in spite of their surroundings he had 
to pretend to a gravity he did not actually 
feel. For to him at least Barbara appeared 
at this moment enchantingly pretty and 
absurd. 


Dick 


221 


If only she had not been so tiny and her 
eyes so big and softly blue! Of course, the 
short brown curls were now hidden under 
her nurse^s cap. But her lips were quiver- 
ing and the color coming and going in her 
cheeks, which now held little hollows where 
the roundness had previously been. 

She held her hands tight together across 
her knees. 

“I have turned out a hopeless failure with 
my nursing, Dick. All the silly things I 
told you about myself were just vanity. 
Eugenia and Mildred and even Nona, who 
has had little experience, are doing splen- 
didly. But the Superintendent and all the 
people in charge of our hospital want me 
to go home. You see, the trouble is I’m 
a coward. Sometimes I don’t know whether 
I am afraid for myself or whether it is 
because I am so wretched over all the pain 
around me. I try to believe it is the last, 
but I don’t know. When that cannon 
was fired I was frightened for us.” 

Dick Thornton’s expression had changed. 
^‘Why, of course you were. Who isn’t 
scared to death all the time in such an 


222 


In the Trenches 


infernal racket? Suppose you think I 
haven’t been frightened out of my senses 
all this week? I just go about with my 
knees shaking and scarcely know what I’m 
doing. The soldiers tell me they feel the 
same way when they first get into the firing 
line; after a while one gets more used to it. 
But see here, Barbara,” Dick’s brows knit 
and the lines about his handsome mouth 
deepened. If you feel the way you say you 
do, in heaven’s name tell me what you 
mean by coming so near the battlefield? 
Whatever put it into your head to attempt 
this ambulance work? Why don’t you 
stay at the hospital and make yourself 
useful ? That’s what Mildred is doing, 
isn’t she?” 

Barbara nodded. ‘‘Yes, but I wasn’t 
useful at the hospital. So I decided to 
walk right up to the cannon’s mouth and 
see if I couldn’t conquer myself. If my 
nerves don’t go to pieces here I feel I can 
endure most anything afterwards.” Bar- 
bara glanced fearfully about her. For- 
tunately they were hidden from any sight 
of suffering. Then she got quietly up on 
her feet. 


Dick 


223 


‘‘I must go to my work now, Pm afraid 
I have already been shirking,’^ she said. 
‘‘But please, Dick, you have not yet an- 
swered my question. What is it you are 
doing with the army? Have you enlisted 
as a soldier.” 

Dick took off his cap. Already his skin 
had darkened from the week’s hardships 
and exposure, for a line of white showed 
between his hair and the end of his cap. 

“No, I am not a soldier, Barbara. After 
all, you know I am an American and I 
don’t quite feel like killing anybody, German 
or no German. So I am trying to do the 
little I can to help the fellows who are hurt, 
just as you are, although in a different 
fashion. Remember I told you once that 
my real gift might be that of a chauffeur. 
Well, that’s what I am these days, a glori- 
fied chauffeur. I am running one of the 
field ambulances. You see, I am a pretty 
skilful driver. I go out over the fields 
with my car whenever the Deutschers give 
us a chance and with two other fellows 
pick up the wounded Tommies and try to 
rush them back to safety. It’s a pretty 


224 


In the Trenches 


exciting business. But somehow in spite 
of being scared I like it.” 

Barbara again held out her hand. ‘^Will 
you shake hands with me before we have 
to say good-by. Because I want you to 
know that when I thought you were care- 
less and good for nothing you were really 
brave and splendid. While I — oh, well, 
it is tiresome to talk about oneself. You’ll 
come to see us as soon as you can. Mil- 
dred will be so anxious. And please, please 
be careful for her sake.” 

For half a moment Barbara had an 
impulse to mention Mildred Thornton’s 
intimacy with Brooks Curtis, the young 
newspaper correspondent, to her brother. 
But then she realized that there was not 
time. Moreover, Mildred would probably 
prefer telling him whatever there might 
be to tell herself. , 

Besides, at this instant Nona Davis 
appeared, looking both worried and 
annoyed. What had become gf Barbara 
Meade that she was not attending to her 
duties.^ Was she ill again 

Naturally on discovering Barbara talk- 


Dick 


225 


ing to a stranger at such a time Nona was 
puzzled and displeased. She had never 
seen Dick Thornton to know him, although 
Mildred had of course frequently spoken 
of her brother. 

A few seconds later, when the necessary 
explanations had been made, Nona and 
Barbara went together into the temporary 
hospital building. Dick found his quarters 
and dropped asleep. He had not thought 
it worth while to mention to Barbara that 
he had been working like a Hercules since 
earliest dawn. 




IS 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A Reappearance 


TER several weeks of the ambulance 



work, Barbara found herself growing 


^ more accustomed to it. Not that 
she had recovered from her horror and 
dread. But she had at least learned to 
control her nerves and to become more 
useful. She was able to make up her mind, 
as Dick had told her, that everybody felt 
much as she did, but simply showed greater 
stoicism. 

Fortunately for Barbara, her first two 
weeks of work came after a lull in the 
fighting at Neuve Chapelle. There were 
but few desperately wounded soldiers to 
be brought to the hospital. Most of the 
men were either ill from natural causes 
or from some disease contracted in the 
trenches. Only now and then an occasional 
shot from across the line found the way to 
its victim. 


( 226 ) 


A Reappearance 


227 


Then frequently during this period Bar- 
bara and Dick enjoyed opportunities for 
short conversations. Several times Dick 
had received leaves of absence to come and 
see his sister and her friends. 

He was immediately a great favorite with 
the hospital staff. He and Nona Davis 
seemed to understand each other particu- 
larly well. There was some bond of like- 
ness between them. Both of them moved 
slowly, had an air of languor and easy 
grace, and yet when the necessity arose 
were capable of the swiftest and most defi- 
nite action. 

Several times the idea came to Barbara: 
would Dick and Nona some day learn to 
care seriously for each other She used to 
feel lonely and cold at this thought, yet all 
the while recognizing that this might prove 
a beautiful relationship. 

Nona seemed so brave. The other girl 
could not but marvel. 

Whatever work she had to do she went 
through it and so far as one could see showed 
no qualms or misgivings. In the dreary 
ride from the field Nona used always to take 


228 


In the Trenches 


charge of the patient who suffered most. 
And though sometimes her delicate face 
was like alabaster she never faltered either 
in her care or cheerfulness. 

Dr. Milton, a young Englishman who had 
charge of one of the new ambulances, was 
open in his praise of Nona’s assistance. 
He could scarcely believe she had so little 
previous nursing experience. But then 
Daisy Redmond insisted that the young 
surgeon was half in love with the southern 
girl and so his opinion was prejudiced. 

Moreover, Mildred Thornton also seemed 
greatly cheered by her brother’s appearance, 
although this was natural enough. At 
first she had been frightened for his safety, 
but as the days passed and no fresh fight- 
ing took place her fears abated. 

By nature Mildred Thornton was 
extremely reticent. Never being congenial 
with her mother, she had never made a 
confidant of her. Then, while Dick always 
told her his secrets, she had but few of her 
own and not specially liking to talk, kept 
these to herself. So perhaps by accident 
and perhaps because of her nature she 


A Reappearance 


229 


said little to her brother about her new 
acquaintances, Mrs. Curtis and Brooks 
Curtis. In a vague way Dick knew of them 
both, understood that Mildred now and 
then went to call on the mother and liked 
her. But he did not know that Mildred ever 
saw the young man or that she received 
frequent letters from him. Nor that these 
letters were brought to her in a mysterious 
fashion by Anton, the half-witted French 
boy, by an especial arrangement. 

In the rear of the garden there chanced 
to be a loose stone in the old convent wall. 
The letters were thrust under this stone. 
So whenever Mildred was alone and had the 
chance she could collect her own mail. 

There seemed nothing so specially re- 
markable to Mildred in this arrangement. 
The letters usually only contained a short 
note written to her. The rest of the en- 
closure were presumably the letters which 
Brooks Curtis was sending to his news- 
paper in the United States through Mil- 
dred’s aid. For she used to address them 
to the street and number he had given her 
and mail them at the same time she mailed 
her own home letters. 


230 


In the Trenches 


Probably Mildred did not talk more of 
her friendship with the young newspaper 
man because she did not wish to betray 
what she was doing for him. There could 
be no harm in it and yet there was a possi- 
bility that the hospital authorities might 
object, everything was being so strictly 
and so carefully managed. 

Only two or three times since their walk 
together had Mildred seen the young man 
himself. But she always spent the hours 
she was off duty with his mother and 
apparently knew the history of the son from 
his youth up. 

Mrs. Curtis said that she herself was a 
New Yorker, but that her husband had 
been a foreigner, of what nationality she 
did not mention. But Brooks had been 
taught several languages when he was a 
young boy, both French and German. 
These were most useful to him in his work. 
Then she spoke freely of the admiration 
her son felt for Mildred and that ordinarily 
he did not like the society of girls. 

So Mildred was pleased and a little 
flattered. Brooks Curtis was unusually 


A Reappearance 


231 


clever, there was no disputing that, and 
at times had agreeable manners, only he 
was moody and changeable. Possibly had 
Mildred met him under other circumstances 
she would have felt no interest in him. 
But she had a kind of fellow feeling for 
her own countryman in a strange land. 

And though Mildred was not aware of it, 
Mrs. Curtis was an adept in the art of 
flattery. No one in her life had ever said 
such charming things to the girl, or made 
her feel of so great importance. Mrs. 
Curtis hung on everything Mildred said. 
She persuaded her she could not have en- 
dured her own loneliness except for the 
girl’s kindness. 

Perhaps owing to the same streak of 
reticence and a little self-depreciation, 
Mildred had not yet become very intimate 
with the other three American Red Cross 
girls who were her companions. They 
were nice to her, but Barbara and Nona 
had developed a friendship which made 
her feel a little left out, and Eugenia was 
too cold and too occupied with her work 
for confidences. One so often wondered 
if she could be a real flesh-and-blood woman. 


232 


In the Trenches 


So the days passed. In spite of the 
tragedy surrounding them a kind of rou- 
tine filled the lives of the Red Cross girls, 
as it did those of the soldiers at the front 
except during the hours of actual warfare. 

Actually one afternoon Nona and Bar- 
bara drove back to the hospital in the 
ambulance with only one patient, who was 
fast asleep for most of the journey. 

By and by Nona took a letter out of her 
pocket. ‘‘I have been meaning to tell 
you, Barbara, and have never had a real 
chance. Lady Dorian, the friend we met 
on the ship, has been acquitted of the 
charges against her in London. She says 
that they were not able to prove anything, 
though she does not feel sure that she is 
not still regarded with suspicion. The 
papers she carried with her were family 
papers and had nothing to do with politi- 
cal matters. She declares that she is not 
in the least a German sympathizer, but 
that she longs and prays for peace. She 
has been trying to establish some kind of 
peace party in London, I think. Some 
time ago, in the first letter I received from 


A Reappearance 


233 


her, she told me to ask Eugenia if she still 
objected to our friendship, now that there 
were no clouds against her. Of course 
Eugenia said, ‘No.’ So Lady Dorian 
writes me that she is coming over to our 
hospital. Not to nurse; she does not know 
how to do that, but she has given the hos- 
pital a lot of money and is going to help 
with the office work. I am deeply inter- 
ested to see her again. You know I had 
a feeling we would meet. I don’t often 
take fancies to people, but I have taken 
a strange one to her.” 

Barbara nodded. “I like her too, but 
perhaps not just in the way you do. For 
I still feel there is some mystery about her 
that makes me uncomfortable. But she 
is beautiful and charming and I shall look 
forward to her coming.” 

That same afternoon just at dusk Bar- 
bara and Nona arrived at the Sacred Heart 
Hospital. They were so tired that they 
went straight to their rooms and laid 
down. 

Half an hour afterwards Eugenia Peabody 
knocked at the door and opened it. She 


234 


In the Trenches 


had with her a tall woman dressed quietly 
in a plain dark-blue dress fitting the lines 
of her figure closely. Even in the dusk 
she gave one a sense of beauty and poise, 
and there was an odor about her like 
lilacs. 

She kissed both girls as if they had been 
real friends. 

‘‘I have been hearing of what you have 
been doing and Tm very proud of you,” 
she murmured. hope I may be useful 
too.” 

But Nona half saw and half felt that the 
woman for whom she had conceived such 
an intense fancy looked very weary and 
sad. 


CHAPTER XIX 


The Test 

O NE morning a short time after- 
wards, as the Red Cross ambu- 
lance drew within two miles of 
the field hospital, the chauffeur stopped. 

For a quarter of an hour before, though 
no one had spoken of it, the four occu- 
pants of the wagon had heard the far-off 
echo of a tremendous cannonading. It was 
not possible to locate the sound. 

Now the chauffeur turned to Dr. Milton, 
don’t know whether we ought to 
report for duty this morning,” he volun- 
teered. ‘HVe an idea the trouble we hoped 
was pretty well over in this neighbor- 
hood has broken out again. We will 
probably get into the thick of things if 
we go much nearer.” 

Dr. Milton’s lips tightened. ‘‘That’s 
what we are here for, isn’t it? Oh, I under- 
stand what you mean; of course you have 

( 235 ) 


236 


In the Trenches 


no fear for yourself. Let’s think the situ- 
ation over.” 

The young fellow who had charge of the 
particular ambulance in which Nona and 
Barbara were acting as nurses was a young 
Englishman who had volunteered for the 
service from one of the Manchester auto- 
mobile factories. He was a skilled and 
trained workman and believed that in 
guiding a Red Cross ambulance he was 
doing more for his country than in actual 
fighting. But he was as gallant as possible 
and utterly fearless for his own safety. 

The two men were together on the front 
seat of the car. Nevertheless, when they 
began talking, as long as the ambulance 
was no longer in movement, both Barbara 
and Nona were able to understand the 
subject of their conversation. 

However, neither girl spoke Immediately. 

Nona Davis turned to gaze at her com- 
panion. 

But Barbara seemed to have her entire 
attention engaged in straining her ears to 
the noise of the bombarding. Now and 
again there was a faint lull and then the 


The Test 


237 


noise broke out with added fury. Some- 
times the sound came from one side of the 
line and sometimes from the other. There 
could be no disputing the fact, fighting 
had indeed begun again. 

Dr. Milton swung around and Jooked at 
Nona. 

“Miss Davis, he began. “I know it is 
a great deal to ask of you and Miss Meade. 
We are several miles this side of the hos- 
pital and the walk will be a long one; 
nevertheless, won^t you both attempt it.^ 
Of course, you have guessed, just as we 
have, that trouble has broken out afresh 
in our neighborhood and If our ambulance 
goes on much farther we may at any 
moment be in the midst of it. We are 
flying the Red Cross flag, but that does not 
always save us, and couldn’t save us In 
any case from the bursting of a shell. Yet 
Martin and I feel we must go on toward 
the battlefield, as we are needed now more 
than any other time. We must not take 
you into such danger, so if you will leave 
us ” 

Nona’s golden brown eyes wore almost 


238 


In the Trenches 


an exalted look, they were so free from 
thought of self. 

“But won’t nurses also be more needed.^” 
she asked, although not requiring an an- 
swer to so self-evident a question. 

“Dr. Milton, I entirely appreciate your 
feeling, but honestly I am not afraid. I 
don’t exactly know why, but I don’t be- 
lieve anything will happen to me. If it 
does, why of course when one comes here 
for the Red Cross work, one expects to 
take chances.” Again Nona glanced to- 
ward Barbara, who still had not spoken. 
“Do you think there would be any danger 
if Miss Meade should walk back to the 
hospital alone?” she asked. 

Really Nona had not the least idea of 
the insult her words implied to the other 
girl. Not for worlds would she have 
wounded or offended her! Neither did she 
believe Barbara a coward because she felt 
that the work ahead of them might be too 
much for her. This business of nursing 
is often a matter of sensibility. The people 
with the finest nerves and tenderest hearts 
are least fitted for the profession. So it 


The Test 


239 


had become almost a matter of course in 
the past few weeks for the three American 
Red Cross girls to regard the fourth of 
their number in this light. 

But Barbara flushed so painfully that 
tears filled her eyes. 

‘‘So that is what you think of me, is it. 
Nona?” she queried. But she offered no 
further reproaches; only turning quietly 
toward the driver of the ambulance said, 
“Drive on, will you, please. I too am 
unwilling to go back now. We will, of 
course, be as careful as possible, since only 
in that way can we really help.” 

Then nobody said another word for the 
next half an hour. Perhaps their hearts 
were too full for speech or their nerves on 
too terrible a tension. Also the noise of 
the firing as they approached nearer the 
line of the British trenches grew more 
appalling. 

But along the way Nona slipped her hand 
inside Barbara’s and though her lips were 
not opened, her apology was made and 
accepted. Moreover, in a sub-conscious 
fashion Barbara appreciated that no dis- 


240 


In the Trenches 


trust had been intended. For indeed, the 
two girls were daily becoming closer and 
closer friends now that their ambulance 
work gave them the chance for spending 
long hours in each other’s society. Unlike 
as they were they appreciated the very' 
differences between them. 

But now was not the time for thinking 
of themselves nor of their friendship. 

The thought of what lay before them 
called only for brave silences. 

With great skill and care the driver of 
their Red Cross ambulance moved in the 
direction of the battle. There could be no 
doubt in any mind of what was taking 
place. Therefore to approach even within 
the neighborhood of the little field hospital 
near the trenches required infinite caution 
and judgment. 

Once the car stopped short. Thirty yards 
before them a giant shell tore through the 
air and fell, ripping a tunnel in the green 
earth. The big ambulance wagon felt the 
shock of the explosion, but was not suffi- 
ciently near to be endangered, except of 
course the thought would force itself: 
Next time would they escape so easily.^ 


The Test 


241 


Yet mysteriously Nona and not even 
Barbara were so frightened as one might 
expect. In moments of great peril, as we 
all know, a courage Is born which one does 
not have in the lesser moments of life. 

Once Barbara thought with a whimsical 
twisting of her lips no one saw, that in all 
probability she was so terrified that she 
had no ordinary method of showing it. 
One could not scream or cry out and cer- 
tainly one could not weep like a nervous 
school girl. Having made up her mind to 
go through with whatever lay before them, 
stoicism was the only possible way of facing 
the situation. 

Finally the ambulance arrived at the 
edge of a woods about half a mile back from 
the stable which had been transformed 
into the temporary Red Cross hospital at 
the beginning of the fighting at Neuve 
Chapelle. 

For the moment the noise of the cannon 
and guns from the two lines of trenches 
lying so tragically near one another, made 
speech between the occupants of the wagon 
almost impossible. Yet the young Eng- 


16 


242 


In the Trenches 


lishman brought his ambulance to a stand- 
still behind a clump of trees that so far 
had been spared from destruction. 

‘‘We must leave the ambulance here,” 
he directed, “it will be wiser to bring the 
soldiers to the car, than run the risk of 
having it made a target.” 

The ambulance surgeon nodded; there 
was no time for discussion. 

“Will you wait here or come with us 
nearer the hospital.^” he asked, looking at 
Nona. 

She made no reply, only started to fol- 
low the two men across the open field that 
lay between the hiding place of the ambu- 
lance and the work before them. Barbara 
silently kept at her side. 

The girls could see the ground shake as 
if stirred by an earthquake. Then from 
the line, where they knew the British 
trenches to be concealed, poured a steady 
stream of low-lying smoke crawling across 
the land like innumerable serpents. This 
was returned in th^ same fashion, while 
overhead thundered the larger field guns, 
whose smoke hung like a giant cloud over- 
head. 


The Test 


24S 


None of the guns were being turned upon 
the open space over which the two girls and 
two men were running at a steady pace. 
Moreover, they were somewhat protected 
by the breastworks which had been thrown 
up before the little emergency hospital and 
the fact that the Red Cross flag flew from 
a tall flagstaff set in front of it, visible 
many miles away. 

They were well in sight of the hospital 
when Barbara’s former terror reasserted 
itself. With this first glimpse, things were 
worse than her most terrified dreams had 
pictured. 

Running across the meadows whenever a 
lull came in the firing were soldiers bearing 
their stricken comrades. Because few of 
them dared cease from their own labor of 
firing, the men at the work of rescue were 
not soldiers but those who had specially 
volunteered for the saving of the wounded. 

It is not worth while to speak of the 
scene at the field hospital. If one’s own 
imagination cannot picture it, perhaps it 
is better never to know of the horrors of 
a battlefield. 


244 


In the Trenches 


For the next few hours Barbara and 
Nona worked as never before in their lives 
They became inspired human machines. 
No longer did they consciously hear even 
the noises of the cannonading. Every 
instant something had to be done. There 
were wounds to be cleansed, bandages put 
on. The surgeons assisted when an opera- 
tion could not be delayed. 

Often the two American Red Cross girls 
stood close together without recognizing 
each other’s presence. 

Once and only once did Barbara Meade 
wake up. 

By chance she was standing by the open- 
ing of a great tent that had been put up 
near the stable now serving as a tempo- 
rary relief station after it had become too 
crowded for usefulness. 

Some special sight or sound must have 
attracted her attention, although she was 
not aware of it at the time. Her hands 
were busy holding a basin of water, but her 
eyes were drawn in another direction. At 
that moment Dick Thornton came into the 
tent bearing a wounded man in his arms. 


The Test 


245 


Barbara paid no attention to the soldier. 
She found herself wondering two things: 
one of them why she had not thought 
before of Dick’s peril, and the other, how 
had she been able to recognize him so 
swiftly when it was scarcely possible to see 
his face.^ 

Surely the Dick she recalled lounging in 
the beautiful old New York library smok- 
ing a cigarette, wearing a velvet coat, per- 
fumed and smiling, had indeed vanished. 
This fellow’s face was covered with smoke 
and blood, his khaki coat had been wrapped 
about a comrade so that now he was in his 
shirt sleeves, but the shirt was torn and 
crimson. 

Was Dick wounded.^ Barbara had no 
chance to ask. Her friend did not look 
toward her — ^was apparently not aware of 
her presence. A surgeon had come forward 
to assist him, and finding an empty cot he 
put his burden down upon it. The next 
instant he had gone. 

To Barbara’s credit she did not let the 
basin in her hands tremble for even the 
slightest instant, neither did she falter in 


246 


In the Trenches 


body or spirit. She closed her lips tight 
together, stiffened her body and went on 
with her work. 

But when her task was finished perhaps 
she showed the passing of an unusual strain. 
Anyhow the doctor whom she had been 
helping chanced to glance at her. 

^‘1 say, Miss Meade,’’ he said kindly, 
^‘you are overdoing things. Nothing to 
be gained by that. Go out in the fresh air, 
get away from this if you can and rest ten 
or fifteen minutes. You should know when 
you feel better.” 

The girl hesitated. 

“Do as I tell you,” the surgeon con- 
tinued more sternly. “We haven’t time 
to have you on our hands, and you look 
like you might keel over after a little more 
of this.” 

Then wearily Barbara crept out into the 
fresh air, feeling all of a sudden that her 
knees did not belong to her and that she 
was nearly unable to stand. 

But once outside and with no duty before 
her, she managed to walk for some little 
distance. In truth she did long to escape 


The Test 


247 


for a while from the sorrow about her. 
But of course at such a time and in such a 
place this was impossible. Between her 
and the battleground were only a few 
meadows and fields. Nevertheless, the 
girl sank thankfully down upon the earth, 
closing her eyes. At least she need see no 
more terrors of battle for a little time. 

How long she kept her eyes closed 
Barbara did not know, but when she 
opened them she stared ahead of her with 
nothing definite in her mind, as she was too 
fatigued to think. 

What she saw, however, was a small field 
ambulance waving a Red Cross flag tear*^ 
ing across a space at no great distance 
away from her. It traveled so fast that the 
car shook from its own vibrations, and in 
the chauffeur’s seat Barbara had an in- 
stantaneous vision of the same stained face 
she had recognized a short while before. 

It was all plain enough, Dick Thornton 
was engaged in the work of rescue. He 
must have driven his field ambulance back 
into the danger line and be again returning 
with wounded men. 


248 


In the Trenches 


Barbara got quickly on her feet. Some 
instinct drove her forward, or was it the 
inspiration of that careening wagon with its 
load of human freight.^ 

Dick must have had a forewarning of 
danger, for never had he attempted reach- 
ing safety with a more reckless effort at 
speed. Yet the disaster came when he 
had about ceased to look for it. They were 
nearing the hospital, there were no guns 
trained in their direction. Yet possibly 
a mistake was made somewhere at this 
moment. The German gunners may have 
thought that they had located a position 
where British officers were giving their 
commands. 

Unexpectedly, and of course without 
warning, Barbara saw a cloud of smoke 
surrounding the field ambulance, heard 
the noise of an exploding shell and before 
the car overturned, Dick Thornton, with 
his arms outspread, pitch forward and 
land with his face and half his body buried 
in the earth. 

Nor did the firing cease in the place 
where he lay. 


CHAPTER XX 


A GirVs Deed 

I T may be just as well that there are 
crises in human life when one acts 
without thinking. 

So it was now with Barbara Meade. 
She did not consider her own danger, nor 
perhaps the foolishness of her deed. All 
she saw was that Dick Thornton was lying 
defenseless upon the ground with a rain 
of shrapnel descending about him. 

It may have been that he was dead and 
that nothing could further injure or aid 
him, but Barbara did not contemplate this. 
She did not cry for help nor even turn back 
for a moment toward the hospital. Quick 
as a flash, with the swift movement and 
decision characteristic of the girl, she darted 
from her own place of comparative safety 
out into the open fleld. 

The ambulance had overturned slowly 
so that one-half of it had sunk down at 

( 249 ) 


250 


In the Trenches 


the side, but in any case the wounded men 
were safer within its covered walls than 
under the angry skies. 

It required only a few moments for the 
girl to reach the prostrate figure of the 
American boy. He had not stirred after 
his fall, so that Barbara instantly dropped 
down on her knees beside him and with a 
nurse’s knowledge took hold of the limp 
hand that was lying in the dust, to count 
the beating of his pulse. It was so faint 
she could hardly be sure of it. 

She must find out his injury, and yet 
first he must be gotten to a place of greater 
security. 

Curious that Barbara, who had been so 
fearful of the horrors of war, should be so 
fearless now! But it did not occur to her 
that she was in equal peril there by the 
body of her wounded friend. The gun fire 
which might again strike him was equally 
apt to choose her for a victim. 

Indeed, the girl’s body partly covered 
that of the boy as she leaned over him and 
seizing him firmly by the shoulders began 
dragging him backwards. 


A GirPs Deed 


251 


If they could get behind the partly over- 
turned ambulance perhaps in a little while 
the firing might cease in their neighbor- 
hood long enough for the hospital staff to 
rescue them. 

Barbara set her teeth. If she had been 
weary a short while before she had for- 
gotten it now. But Dick was tall and 
heavy and she was so stupidly, ridiculously 
small. However, Barbara made no effort 
to be gentle. If Dick had been a log of 
wood that she had been forced to bring 
to a certain spot she would have hauled it 
in much the same way. 

Yet once she believed she heard Dick 
groan and this was perhaps her one con- 
sciously glad moment, for at least he was 
alive; before she had not been altogether 
sure. 

But once behind the wagon, Barbara sat 
down and drew Dick’s head into her lap. 
Gently she pushed the hair back from his 
face and then from a little canteen she al- 
ways carried poured a few drops of water 
between his lips. He seemed to swallow 
them. She could see now that his right 


252 


In the Trenches 


shoulder had been struck and that his arm 
hung strangely at his side. There might be 
other worse injuries, of course, but this 
one she could discern. 

Then Barbara wiped the grime from her 
companion’s face with the white linen 
cloths she had in her pocket. Only then 
did the tears start to her eyes, because the 
blood which had been stopped by the dirt 
encrusting it began to flow afresh. Dick 
also had a wound across his face. It did 
not appear serious, but Barbara had sud- 
denly thought of Mrs. Thornton’s pride in 
Dick’s appearance and of what she would 
suffer should she see him like this. The 
girl had a sudden, unreasonable feeling of 
resentment against Dick himself. After 
all, what right had he to risk his life in this 
horrible war.^ He was an American and 
owed no duty to another country. 

The next instant Barbara realized her 
own absurdity. Was she not in her way 
doing just what Dick had done, only of 
course far less nobly and well? And after 
all, were not men and women fighting for 
the right, brothers and sisters in the divi- 
nest sense? 


A Girl’s Deed 


253 


When Dick Thornton finally opened his 
eyes Barbara was crying in earnest. It 
was ridiculous and utterly undignified of 
her. Here she had done the bravest kind 
of deed quickly and efficiently, but now 
that she should be showing all the calmness 
of a well-regulated trained nurse, she had 
taken to weeping. 

Of course, Dick did not return at once to 
a full understanding of the situation. For 
to Barbara’s credit it must be said that 
while she was indulging in tears she was 
also bandaging Dick’s forehead with all 
possible skill. It was perhaps the touch of 
her hands that had awakened him. 

For a moment he gazed at the girl stu- 
pidly. But when her work was finished and 
his head again rested quietly in her lap, 
Dick endeavored to look about him. A 
movement made him faint with pain, yet 
he could turn his eyes without stirring. 
Vaguely he saw the overturned ambulance 
in front of them, heard faint moans on the 
inside. Then there was the field. He re- 
called driving like mad across it and the 
explosion that had plunged him out of the 


254 


In the Trenches 


car. What had taken place was becoming 
fairly clear except for the presence of his 
little western friend. What on earth was 
Barbara Meade doing here in a desperately 
dangerous situation? He remembered now 
having seen her assisting one of the surgeons 
inside the hospital tent earlier in the day. 
At least he believed he had seen her; there 
had been no moment then even for thought. 

But what must he do now? 

‘‘Barbara,” Dick began with surprising 
firmness, “you must get out of this death 
trap at once. The Lord only knows how 
you got here! Some one will look after us 
as soon as there is half a chance.^’ 

But Dick’s last words were lost. Over 
in the dust a few feet from the place where 
he had first fallen a piece of broken shell 
fell with a kind of shriek. Stone and earth 
shot up in the air like a geyser and falling 
again partly covered the young man and 
Barbara and also the white sides of the 
ambulance. 

“Don’t talk, Dick,” Barbara returned 
firmly. “You are right, some one will look 
after us as soon as possible.” 


A GirPs Deed 


255 


Perhaps another five minutes passed, 
perhaps half an hour; there is no way of 
counting time in danger. Now and then a 
bullet or a piece of shrapnel passed beyond 
them or sunk into the earth at no great 
distance away. Dick again lost conscious- 
ness, Barbara remained almost equally 
still. Whatever fate might send they must 
accept. 

But while Barbara Meade had given no 
thought to the nearness of the relief hos- 
pital and the men and women at work 
there, when she had made her swift rush to 
Dick Thornton’s aid, naturally the over- 
turning of the Red Cross ambulance had 
not gone long unobserved. 

As everyone except Barbara was at work 
at the moment of the actual accident to 
the car, no one had seen her immediate 
action. However, the noise of the explo- 
sions so close to them naturally attracted 
the attention of the hospital staff. It was 
unusual, although it did happen now and 
then, for the German firing to be directed 
toward a Red Cross hospital. Perhaps it 
was intentional, perhaps a mistake had 


256 


In the Trenches 


been made; one could only accept the fact 
that war is war. 

Through a small telescope one of the 
hospital surgeons studied the position of the 
overturned ambulance a short time after 
Barbara succeeded in drawing Dick behind 
its shelter. Then he became aware that 
one of their Red Cross nurses was also 
beside the ambulance. He could dis- 
tinctly see her uniform, even the Red Cross 
on her arm. 

The next moment he called Dr. Milton, 
who happened to be passing with Nona 
Davis on their way to another case. 

You may remember that the accident 
had taken place between a quarter and a 
half mile across the fields. 

Therefore it was not difficult when Nona’s 
turn came to look through the telescope to 
recognize Barbara Meade. Dick she did 
not recognize, but indeed she paid scant 
attention to the khaki figure on the ground. 
Her interest was in her friend. 

As soon as possible six volunteers made 
their way to the ambulance. Dick was 
carried safely back to the hospital and the 


A GirPs Deed 


257 


two wounded men inside the ambulance 
whom he had been trying to save. Barbara 
walked beside them. 

A little later, when the firing in the neigh- 
borhood had entirely ceased, the ambu- 
lance itself was righted and dragged back 
to the hospital for repairs. Fortunately, 
the car itself had been little injured. 


17 


CHAPTER XXI 


An Unexpected Situation 


D ick THORNTON for a short time 
was desperately ill. 

He had, of course, been removed 
to the Sacred Heart Hospital as soon as 
possible in order that his sister Mildred 
might be near him. But both Mildred and 
Barbara helped with the nursing. 

It was considered wiser by the hospital 
authorities that Barbara should not return 
immediately to her work with the Red 
Cross ambulance at the front. She was 
more shaken by her experience than she 
herself realized, or at least so her appear- 
ance suggested. No one, not even Mildred 
Thornton, dreamed that a part of her pallor 
might be due to anxiety for Dick. Never- 
theless, Barbara went about her work at 
the hospital looking spent and exhausted, 
yet she no longer flinched at anything she 
was called upon to do. The greater trage- 

( 258 ) 


An Unexpected Situation 


259 


dies she had lately seen had taught her 
more self-control. 

Just at first Barbara was not aware of 
the change in the attitude of the hospital 
staff toward her after her rescue of Dick 
Thornton. It had seemed such a natural 
action to her she had not given it any 
thought. 

But Nona Davis had not seen it in the 
same light, nor had Dr. Milton nor the 
other nurses and physicians near the battle- 
field. 

Everywhere there was talk of the valor 
and common sense of the young American 
girl. Whether or not it was true, she was 
given the credit for having saved Dick’s 
life. Had he remained unprotected a 
stray shot must have done for him. 

Mildred made no effort to conceal her 
gratitude and affection for Barbara, and 
even Lady Dorothy Mathers and Daisy 
Redmond, the two English girls who at 
first had small faith in Barbara’s ability, 
were now generously kind to her. Actually 
Lady Dorothy apologized for having pre- 
viously slighted her, while Alexina McIntyre 
gathered Barbara into her capable arms. 


260 


In the Trenches 


You’re a wee thing, there is no denying 
it, but I’ve always believed you had grit 
and now you have proved it.” 

So in course of time Barbara grew happier 
and stronger, though not, as it turned out, 
until Dick was out of danger. The wound 
on his face healed rapidly enough, but the 
trouble had been with his splintered shoul- 
der. He would hardly be useful at the 
front for some time to come. 

Nevertheless, though Barbara remained 
behind for the regular staff nursing, Nona 
Davis continued in the ambulance service. 
The suggestion was made that she be 
relieved by one of the other nurses, but 
Nona preferred to make no change. For 
some reason she seemed peculiarly fitted for 
the work at the front. It required a cool- 
ness and obedience to orders that she was 
able to give. Her lack of long training did 
not count so seriously against her, since 
she was always under a surgeon’s orders. 
Moreover, her courage and devotion never 
appeared to falter. 

Often when she returned to the hospital 
at night Eugenia Peabody would look at 


An Unexpected Situation 


261 


her In amazement. Could Nona be made 
of flesh and blood? She seemed so slender 
and fragile and yet was like fine steel. The 
truth was that all her life Nona had been 
accustomed to taking care of some one, so 
that she thought far less of herself and her 
own sensations than other girls of her age. 
Moreover, back of her stretched a long line 
of cavalier ancestors, who have a peculiar 
quality of endurance under conditions of 
war, whatever their weakness in times of 
peace. 

But really Nona was animated by none 
of these toploftical ideas; she was merely 
doing the best she could in the place where 
she seemed most needed. 

However, other persons besides Eugenia 
marveled at her. Now and then when they 
were both free. Lady Dorian and Nona 
spent an hour or so together. The older 
woman was assisting with the business 
affairs of the hospital. An outsider can 
scarcely realize how much business there is 
that must be wisely administered. So Lady 
Dorian spent her time ordering supplies 
and watching over their disposal, but she 


262 


In the Trenches 


made no friends except with Nona. An 
air of mystery still clung like a tangible 
atmosphere about her, and though the 
rest of the hospital staff were aware of it 
and did not understand her presence among 
them, they were too busy to give her much 
attention or thought. 

Yet Nona Davis frequently thought of 
her in her long journeys back and forth. 
In spite of their increasing intimacy Lady 
Dorian had told her nothing more of her- 
self. She mentioned no details of her 
arrest in London nor of the reasons the 
authorities had for finally releasing her. 
So Nona could not help feeling a slight 
curiosity, although she tried to smother it 
by scolding herself for her lack of good taste. 
Certainly one should never wish to know 
anything of a friend’s life except what the 
friend wishes to tell, and yet at times it is 
hard not to desire the knowledge. 

However, Nona’s own affairs at this 
period should have been sufficiently absorb- 
ing to have made her forget other people’s. 
The soldiers she had helped to care for, the 
surgeons she was in the habit of assisting. 


An Unexpected Situation 


263 


showed a peculiar affection and kindness 
for the young southern girl. And Dr. 
Milton made no effort to disguise his 
devotion. 

At first when he discovered his own 
emotion the young English physician had 
no intention of betraying himself. He had 
come to the war to do his duty and not to 
give way to the ridiculous weakness of 
falling in love. But Nona had proved too 
much for him. So far, however, he had 
sufficient self-control not to have spoken of 
it to her. And if he showed his feeling in 
other ways Nona gave no sign of having 
understood, so the young surgeon had not 
been able to decide whether she felt more 
than a passing friendliness for him. 

Nevertheless, he was glad one morning 
to be entrusted with a special message 
which was to be given in person to Miss 
Nona Davis. 

An orderly had called at the temporary 
hospital near the British line of trenches 
to say that Colonel Dalton would like to 
speak to Miss Davis at his headquarters. 

Naturally Nona was surprised by the 


264 


In the Trenches 


message. She knew, of course, that after 
his recovery Colonel Dalton had returned 
to his command. There was almost daily 
talk of him, as he was regarded as one of 
the most capable officers at the front. But 
she had not seen him since the hour of their 
conversation by his bedside. What could 
he possibly wish of her? However, the 
interview was to take place a little before 
noon on the same day and an officer would 
call to escort her into the presence of his 
superior. 

Frankly other persons beside the girl were 
mystified by Colonel Dalton’s command. 
He was not in the habit of paying any 
attention to the Red Cross work or its 
workers. His reputation was that of a 
stern disciplinarian, whom his men respected 
but did not always like. So when Dr. 
Milton suggested that his intention might 
be to bestow some mark of favor upon Miss 
Davis for her devotion to the soldiers, no 
one took the idea seriously. Fortunately 
Nona did not even hear of it. 

Before noon, however, she was ready to 
do as she had been bidden. She was 


An Unexpected Situation 


265 


waiting in the rear of the relief hospital 
when a young officer in the uniform of a 
lieutenant of the South Lancastershire regi- 
ment, riding one horse and leading another, 
drew up before her and dismounted. 

Almost without regarding him Nona 
allowed him to help her into the saddle. 
Then they set off across country together, 
the young lieutenant a little in the lead. 
The secret of an officer’s headquarters is 
sometimes so carefully guarded that not 
even his own soldiers know its exact 
location. 

Nona was not even particularly inter- 
ested. She realized that she rode about 
three-quarters of a mile and then stopped 
in front of what appeared like an immense 
pile of brushwood. Behind it was a small 
wooden building, evidently a temporary 
structure, and inside the building, seated 
before a small pine table with a telephone 
receiver in his hand, was Colonel Dalton. 

Here at last Nona became vitally inter- 
ested. She had been told that innumerable 
telephone wires, most of them underground, 
connected the British officer’s quarters with 


266 


In the Trenches 


the trenches at the front as well as with 
the headquarters of other officers and with 
the different positions of the field artillery. 
Here was certain proof of it. The officers 
with the men in the trenches must take 
their commands from their superiors who 
were in truth the ‘^gods behind the 
machines.” 

The lieutenant saluted. Colonel Dalton 
returned the salute curtly. Nona simply 
waited and watched. 

By and by Colonel Dalton put down the 
telephone receiver. 

‘‘Be seated,” he said briefly, and Nona 
sat down on a wooden stool the younger 
officer thrust toward her. She had no 
special sensation of awe; she was seldom 
afraid of people except in social life. This 
was simply a part of her day’s work. 
Nevertheless she wondered why Colonel 
Dalton was frowning at her so severely. 

The same instant he took a bundle of 
papers from inside his pocket. 

“Sorry to trouble you with this. Miss 
Davis, but for the present you seem the 
best person to get hold of. I remember 


An Unexpected Situation 


267 


our talk at the hospital, and moreover, Fve 
the impression you can answer questions 
and keep your own counsel when it’s 
necessary. There is some ugly work going 
on at the Sacred Heart Hospital. I’ve 
reason to believe that there is a spy among 
the workers over there. Is there any one 
you can think of who might be willing to 
give news of the British positions, the 
amount of our ammunition and other facts 
to the enemy Think this over quietly 
and coolly. I promise you that no one 
will be held responsible whose guilt is not 
plainly proved and also that whatever you 
are willing to tell me will be kept in strictest 
confidence.” 

‘‘But why do you think such a thing 
How can you possibly imagine.^” Nona 
faltered, and then appreciated that this was 
not the manner in which to address an 
officer. Colonel Dalton would not make 
such an accusation without due proof of 
his suspicion. 

Nona had a dreadful sensation of horror 
and confusion. Surely Colonel Dalton 
must be mistaken. Never were there a 


268 


In the Trenches 


more devoted, more sincere group of workers 
than the Red Cross nurses and physicians 
at the Sacred Heart Hospital. That trea- 
son could dwell among them was out of the 
question. Yet all the while the American 
girl was voicing this silent protest in her 
own heart, automatically she was reviewing 
the name and character of every member 
of their staff. There was no one, no one, 
who could not be wholly trusted, whose 
family and whose history were not open 
books. 

Then a face and figure passed before the 
girl’s vision and in a flash she controlled 
the leaping of the hot blood to her cheeks. 

Nona looked directly at Colonel Dalton. 

‘‘You have asked me a question I wdll not 
answer,” she returned quietly. “I do not, 
of course, know whether you have the right 
to force me, but I feel that I have no right 
to say a single word that would reflect on 
any man or woman at our hospital. What 
I could tell you would amount to nothing; 
it would only be guessing at best. For I 
have no actual reason for being suspicious 
of any one.” 


An Unexpected Situation 


269 


“No actual reason?” Colonel Dalton re- 
peated. “Have you any reason at all?” 

“No,” Nona returned. 

The Colonel glanced again at the papers 
in his hands. “Because you were so kind 
as to nurse me at the Sacred Heart Hos- 
pital and because I am aware of the noble 
work their nurses and doctors have been 
doing for the wounded, I want no evil 
gossip to surround you. Do not mention 
my errand, but say to your superinten- 
dent that I will call in person to see her 
tomorrow evening. Perhaps you are right 
in not betraying whomever it is you seem 
to suspect. Good-by.” 

Colonel Dalton again bowed his head, 
and as another officer had entered the room 
to speak to him, Nona hurried out. 

The same lieutenant escorted her back 
to her starting point, but once again Nona 
paid no attention to him. She was in a 
tumult of surprise, apprehension and sor- 
row. A spy at the Sacred Heart Hospital, 
what knowledge had Colonel Dalton to 
go upon? Yet he appeared convinced and 
was too wise a man to accept a suspicion 
without proof. 


270 


In the Trenches 


No intimate personal sorrow had ever 
disturbed Nona Davis more seriously. Yet 
these were days when one could not give 
way. She must continue with her w^ork as 
if nothing had happened and Colonel Dal- 
ton had commanded that she confide in 
no one. Yet if she could only speak of 
his suspicion to one single person, perhaps 
her own fears might be dissipated, or else, 
or else — here Nona scarcely faced her own 
thought. Perhaps the telling might enable 
the offender to escape while there was still 
opportunity. 

She was dazed and sick when her escort 
assisted her to alight for the second time. 
Yet she had a vague sensation that his 
eyes were gazing at her with a strange 
combination of amusement and sympathy. 
But of course she must have been dreaming, 
because after she had walked several yards 
away she thought she overheard him say, 

“Are you the gardener’s son.^” And 
really she had no right to believe the 
young officer had suddenly lost his mind. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Recognition 

N ona DAVIS delivered Colonel Dal- 
ton’s message to the superinten- 
dent of the Sacred Heart Hospital. 
However, after second ' thought Colonel 
Dalton also sent a letter explaining the 
circumstances more fully and asking for 
a private meeting in order that a thorough 
investigation be made. 

A woman of about forty with a large 
experience of life, Miss Grey, though deeply 
disturbed by the British officer’s suspicion, 
did not allow herself to go to pieces over 
it. She knew that they were living in the 
heat and turmoil of the most terrible war 
in history, where every day thousands of 
men and women were willing to give their 
lives to afford the slightest aid to their 
country. Everywhere there had been sto- 
ries of spies and oftentimes many of them 
were the last persons to be suspected. It 

( 271 ) 


272 


In the Trenches 


was dreadful to learn that a spy had crept 
within the shelter of the Sacred Heart 
Hospital, and yet there was no reason why 
one place should be spared more than 
another. 

So very quietly Miss Grey set to work 
to study possibilities for herself, in order 
that she might be able later to assist Colonel 
Dalton in his effort to unearth the guilty 
person. She knew the name and something 
of the past history of every individual on 
her hospital staff, including both the out- 
side and inside servants. This, owing to 
the conditions of war, she had considered 
a part of her duty. Indeed, she kept a 
small book in which their names, previous 
addresses and occupations were carefully 
registered and the Red Cross nurses had 
also presented their nursing certificates 
with a brief outline of their circumstances. 

So without discussing the situation with 
any one else seriously. Miss Grey studied 
the contents of this little volume, intending 
to hand it to Colonel Dalton as soon as 
they met. 

Without the least sense of prejudice she 


Recognition 


273 


found herself most interested in the latest 
arrivals at the hospital. Of course, there 
was as yet no reason, so far as she knew, 
why one person should be suspected beyond 
another. The spy may have been in their 
midst many months waiting the oppor- 
tunity for betrayal. Nevertheless, as the 
discovery of treachery was so recent, it was 
natural for her to guess that the evildoer 
was a comparatively new member of their 
staff. 

The newcomers chanced to be the eight 
new nurses, four of them American and 
four British, who had begun work about 
two months before, and Lady Dorian, who 
was the last arrival. 

Just as Nona had felt a sudden chill at 
the thought of Lady Dorian’s painful 
experience and her evident wish not to talk 
of herself, so Miss Grey frowned and 
flushed when she came upon her name in 
the hospital biography. 

Had the authorities been wise in accept- 
ing Lady Dorian’s presence among them 
and the very generous gifts she had made 
so soon after her trial in London? It was 


18 


274 


In the Trenches 


true that nothing had then been proven 
against her and so very probably she had 
naught to do with the attempted destruc- 
tion of the ship upon which she had chanced 
to be a passenger. However, it might 
have been the better part of valor to have 
regarded Lady Dorian with possible scepti- 
cism, more especially as so little was known 
of her previous history. 

Yet with no facts at her disposal Miss 
Grey took the only wise course, she reserved 
judgment. 

Thirty-six hours later, just after dusk, 
Colonel Dalton, accompanied by the lieu- 
tenant who was one of his aides, rode up to 
the Sacred Heart Hospital. He went 
straight into the business office of the 
superintendent, where he spent half an 
hour with Miss Grey, Mrs. Payne and 
other persons in positions of trust. 

At the close of that time a command was 
issued, asking the surgeons, nurses and 
servants in relays of eight or ten to come 
into the office in order that Colonel Dalton 
might question them. No one, of course, 
except Nona Davis, had any conception of 


Recognition 


275 


why a British officer should be devoting his 
valuable time to interviewing the members 
of a hospital staff for any purpose whatso- 
ever. 

But by chance Eugenia, Mildred, Bar- 
bara and Nona, Lady Mathers, Alexina 
McIntyre and Lady Dorian made one of 
the latest groups. It was not by chance, 
however, that Nona went first to Lady 
Dorian’s tiny room at the top of the tallest 
tower and asked that they might go down- 
stairs together. 

To the girl’s horror Lady Dorian abso- 
lutely refused to accompany her. 

She was sitting by a window with only a 
lighted taper In the room, apparently 
nervous and unhappy. 

^‘Please present my respects to Com- 
mander Dalton,” she said, ‘‘and say that 
as I am not well it will be impossible for 
me to see him.” Lady Dorian spoke so 
quietly, as if there were no question of her 
wish not being respected, that Nona was 
frightened. 

“But you must come, please,” the younger 
girl urged. ‘T am afraid you don’t realize 


276 


In the Trenches 


how important it is that all of us be 
present. Don^t you appreciate that what- 
ever reason Colonel Dalton may have for 
talking with us, it would not look well for 
any one of us to refuse to be interviewed ? ” 

But Nona’s arguments and persuasions 
proved of no avail. Finally she had to 
go down to the office with the others, leav- 
ing Lady Dorian in her own room. 

Nevertheless Nona did not dare repeat 
aloud the message her friend had given 
her. She only whispered its substance con- 
fusedly in Miss Grey’s ear and the next 
moment the superintendent left the room. 

No one of the four American Red Cross 
girls nor any one else present ever forgot 
the next quarter of an hour. 

Colonel Dalton was intensely angry. He 
considered that he was not doing the work 
of a soldier and only his interest in the 
Sacred Heart Hospital induced him to con- 
duct an inquiry of such a nature. How- 
ever, the traitor had to be discovered and 
at once. 

In his hand he held the bunch of papers 
which Nona recognized as the same he had 


Recognition 


277 


in his conversation with her. Also she 
recognized the lieutenant as the young 
officer who had previously escorted her and 
who had made such an extraordinary 
speech at their moment of parting. 

However, Colonel Dalton was only begin- 
ning his cross-examination of the latest 
comers when the door of the office again 
opened and Miss Grey entered accompanied 
by Lady Dorian. 

Nona gave a little gasp of relief and dis- 
may. For never had she seen any one look 
so ill and wretched as Lady Dorian. She 
was plainly making every effort to keep 
her face averted from the gaze of the older 
man, who was sitting in a chair beside a 
small table. 

But Nona was the more amazed when 
she turned to see what impression had 
been made upon Colonel Dalton. Dis- 
turbed by the opening of the door, he had 
glanced up. Now his face was no longer 
crimson from anger and outdoor exposure, 
but white and drawn, and his eyes ex- 
pressed extraordinary surprise and dis- 
comfort. 


278 


In the Trenches 


For a moment his lips moved without 
making a sound, but the next he had 
assumed his former military bearing. 

‘Tn the past few weeks letters have been 
mailed from this hospital, supposedly ad- 
dressed to a newspaper in New York City 
for publication, but in reality exposing the 
secrets of the British army in this neigh- 
borhood to our enemy,” he began. 
should not be difficult for some one on this 
staff to tell me who posted these letters and 
where the information they contain was 
obtained.” The officer then struck the 
table harshly with the papers in his hand. 
“One of these letters got through the post, 
the others are in my possession, so there 
will be little chance for the informant to 
escape. Has any one a suggestion as to 
who the man or woman may be?” 

At the question had all the persons in 
the room been spies they could scarcely 
have appeared more miserable and guilty. 
Moreover, for a moment no one attempted 
to reply. 

Presently Mildred Thornton walked over 
to the table. 


Recognition 


279 


Mildred was not handsome, yet at this 
moment her dignity, her refinement and 
more than that, her look of intelligence 
which was like her distinguished father’s, 
had never been more apparent. 

‘‘Will you show me the letters you speak 
of, Colonel Dalton.^” she asked in a low 
tone. 

The officer appeared to hesitate, but 
after a careful study of the girl he gave the 
letters into her hands. 

Near them was a lamp on the table 
and Mildred stooped as she went rapidly 
through the papers. Then she straightened 
up and her lips were like chalk. 

“I mailed the letters,” she said dis- 
tinctly. “But listen to me for a moment 
while I explain, then Fm ready to take 
whatever punishment I deserve.” 

There was a complete silence. Mildred 
spoke very calmly, very proudly; never- 
theless, no one of her three American 
friends believed her. Mildred’s statement 
was so incredible, she must have lost her 
senses. Instinctively Barbara started for- 
ward to protest, but both Eugenia and 
Nona held on to her. 


280 


In the Trenches 


“Wait until she has spoken,’’ Eugenia 
ordered. 

Colonel Dalton himself did not appear 
particularly convinced. A spy was not 
apt to proclaim guilt with so little pressure. 
Yet the young woman looked as if she had 
brains. 

“A young man and his mother have 
been staying in this neighborhood almost 
ever since our arrival,” Mildred began. 
“Brooks Curtis, the man called himself. 
We met him on board the steamer coming 
over to England and he told me that he 
was a newspaper correspondent and meant 
to report the war. I don’t know anything 
else about him, but I liked him, although 
my friends did not.” Here Mildred flushed 
and her hands trembled, yet she went on 
bravely. “Mrs. Curtis settled in the 
neighborhood in one of the peasants’ cot- 
tages and I used to see her nearly every 
week and now and then her son. One day 
Mr. Curtis told me he was having difficulty 
in mailing his letters to his New York 
paper and asked me to mail them for him. 
Also he asked me not to mention the fact. 


Recognition 


281 


I was very stupid, I was worse than stupid, 
but of course I did not dream of what I 
was really doing. Still, I feel that I deserve 
imprisonment or punishment of some kind. 
I came to Europe to try to be of service 
to the soldiers and IVe brought them mis- 
fortune.’’ The girl for the moment could 
say nothing more. But then everybody 
in the room was equally aghast, Mildred’s 
explanation was so astounding and at the 
same time so simple. 

‘‘Is there a way of getting hold of this 
young man to find out if your story is 
true.^” Colonel Dalton demanded. 

And this time Nona and Barbara an- 
swered together. “Mrs. Curtis could be 
found at the home of Mere Marie and 
Anton. From her one might obtain infor- 
mation concerning her son.” 

A moment later the two girls and the 
lieutenant were on their way to the hut of 
Mere Marie. A little later they returned 
with the news that Mrs. Curtis had dis- 
appeared the day before and the old 
peasant woman had no knowledge of her 
whereabouts. 


282 


In the Trenches 


But during their absence Colonel Dalton 
and Mildred had a long talk together, so 
the girl herself was able to convince him. 
He was very severe, he could find little 
excuse for her foolishness; nevertheless, 
recognizing at the end Mildred’s inno- 
cence and utter inexperience of life, he 
assured her that she need fear no penalty. 
The British Government, however, would 
seek to find the young man calling himself 
Brooks Curtis, and on his arrest she would 
be expected to appear. 

Finally Mildred was allowed to go up to 
her room and Barbara and Eugenia went 
with her. Lady Mathers and Alexina 
wandered off to express their opinions on 
the situation. 

So by accident Nona Davis was left for a 
moment standing in the hall with the 
young English lieutenant. She had seen 
him several times lately, it was true, and 
yet she was annoyed at this moment to 
find him smiling at her in a surprisingly 
friendly fashion. 

From the single rose bush in front of 
Mere Marie’s cottage even in the darkness 


Recognition 


283 


he had plucked a rose. Now he extended 
the rose to Nona. 

“Have all Americans poor memories?” he 
asked. “Or is it because you wish to 
forget? Once upon a time there was a 
young man asleep in an English garden and 
lifting his eyes he saw a fairy princess 
standing over him with a rose in her dress 
as yellow as her hair.” 

Nona blushed delightfully. “You mean,” 
she said, “that you are the gardener’s son? 
Then you are well and back at your post 
again? I’m so glad.” 

Her companion nodded. “I am a son of 
Adam.” 

But at this moment Colonel Dalton, Miss 
Grey and Lady Dorian made their appear- 
ance and the young officer turned to salute 
his superior. 

Miss Grey accompanied them to the 
door, leaving Nona and Lady Dorian alone. 

Impulsively the younger girl kissed her 
friend. “I am so happy,” she whispered. 

Lady Dorian walked away with her. “I 
understand, dear,” she returned. “The 
truth is Colonel Dalton and I knew each 


284 


In the Trenches 


other very intimately in the past and I felt 
it might be pleasanter for us not to meet 
again. Naturally I did not dream of the 
seriousness of his errand. Some day I may 
tell you the whole story; now good night.’’ 

Nona went on upstairs without replying 
and the next hour the three girls devoted 
to trying to console Mildred Thornton. 

It was Barbara’s conviction that they 
would some day meet Brooks Curtis again. 
Then Mildred could repay his deceit by 
surrendering him to the British authori- 
ties. But Mildred had no wish to find the 
young man. If only he did no further 
harm to the Allies she wished that she 
might never see or hear of him again. 

And the girls did not hear. Several 
months passed by and each day found 
them more and more absorbed in their Red 
Cross work. 

Nona Davis did not mention Lady 
Dorian’s confidence. However, there was 
little she could tell. The older woman had 
simply explained that she had spent several 
years in England, where she and Colonel 
Dalton had known each other intimately. 


Recognition 


285 


But there was too much for the Red 
Cross Girls to do, they were living too full 
lives themselves to give more than passing 
thoughts to other persons. 

When Dick Thornton had in a measure 
recovered he returned to London. 

So the early part of the winter vanished. 
Now and then there came a lull in the 
fighting between the armies of northern 
France. Afterwards it would break out 
again with greater violence. 

Finally the climax came. 

By chance Nona and Barbara, who had 
again joined the ambulance corps, first 
brought the news to the Sacred Heart 
Hospital. The order had come from Col- 
onel Dalton. Later it was delivered in 
person by Lieutenant Hume. 

The Sacred Heart Hospital must be 
abandoned. Having forced the British 
line for several miles, the Germans were 
now dangerously near. If the hospital 
wished to protect its wounded, to save 
supplies, to safeguard its workers, their 
present habitation must be abandoned. 

No army ever moved its encampment 


286 


In the Trenches 


with greater efficiency. In between their 
periods of nursing the four American girls 
assisted with the packing. No one of them 
ever forgot the experience. Yet at the last 
there was a sudden rush. The enemy was 
reported advancing before another refuge 
could be found for the Sacred Heart staff. 
Wounded soldiers had to be transported in 
half a dozen directions wherever a spot 
could be found for them. At the time there 
was no place for so many extra nurses. 

It was Eugenia Peabody who finally made 
the suggestion to Miss Grey. She pro- 
posed that she and her three friends should 
find a retreat for themselves, and there 
await orders. It would relieve so much of 
the Superintendent’s responsibility. 

So one afternoon the four American girls 
were hurried away in one of the army 
motors to the nearest railroad station in a 
zone of safety. 

The next morning, in a little less than a 
year after their arrival in Europe, they 
found themselves in a small French city. 

A few days after Nona Davis suggested 
that they offer their services to the French 


Recognition 


287 


Red Cross. Having come abroad to serve 
the Allies, it was natural they should wish 
to care for the wounded soldiers of the dif- 
ferent nationalities. 

* * * * * 

This first volume in the American Red 
Cross series can, of course, only begin to 
tell the adventures and experiences of the 
four American girls, who, forgetful of self, 
offered their services to the wounded sol- 
diers in the war. The stories of their 
lives and the friends they gather around 
them will be continued in the next book in 
the series, to be known as ‘‘The Red 
Cross Girls on the French Firing Line.’’ 


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